IlieCit? 


'XT'     ._-%4'--^     <*jr 

1910      *] 


THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 


WORKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


An  Introduction  to  the  Old  Testament. 

The  author  of  "  Old  Testament  Criticism 
and  the  Christian  Church"  intends  this 
book  for  the  use  of  students  and  working 
ministers  who  desire  to  keep  abreast  of 
Biblical  studies,  and  yet  are  too  busy  to 
use  an  elaborate  and  complicated  text- 
book.    Crown  8vo,  cloth, $1.75 

The  Prayers  of  the  Bible.  The  author  of 
"An  Introduction  to  the  Old  Testament " 
here  discusses  all  the  prayers  of  the  Bible, 
and  arranges  those  suitable  for  use  in 
private  devotion  and  in  public  service. 
Crown  8vo, 1.75 

"Mr.  McFadyen  has  here  given  the  study  of  prayer  the  hest 
aid  it  has  received  in  a  long  time."— Record  of  Christian  Work. 

"  Seldom  does  a  volume  appear  so  engaging  and  useful  for 
every  child  of  God."— New  York  Observer. 


THE    CITY    WITH 
FOUNDATIONS 


FEB    3  1910 

<£//>,,-,,,  mru 
JOHN   EDGAR    M'FADYEN 

M.A.  (Glas.),   B.A.  (Oxon.) 

Professor  of  Old  Testament  Literature  and  Exegesis  in  Knox  College,  Toronto} 

Author  of  "  Old  Testament  Criticism  and  the  Christian  Church"   "  Introduction 

to  the  Old  Testament^'  "  The  Prayers  of  the  Bible,"  etc. 


He  looked  for  the  city  which  hath  the  foundations, 
whose  builder  and  maker  is  God. 


NEW    YORK 
A.  C.  ARMSTRONG  AND  SON 

3    &    5    WEST    EIGHTEENTH    STREET 
1909 


TO 
MY  OLD   COLLEGE   FRIEND 

REV.    JAMES    LAW,    M.A. 

IN   MEMORY    OF 
FOUR   HAPPY   STUDENT   YEARS 


PREFACE 

The  words  of  the  Bible  are  inexhaustible  in  their  fresh- 
ness and  power;  and  this  volume,  like  its  predecessors, 
The  Divine  Pursuit  and  In  the  Hour  of  Sile?ice,  is  an  attempt 
to  capture  something  of  their  aroma.  The  chapters  are  not 
elaborate  expositions,  but  simple  meditations,  resting  usually 
upon  a  close  study  of  the  original  meaning  of  some  great 
Bible  word  or  scene,  and  exhibiting  some  aspect  of  its  per- 
manent message.  Those  ancient  words  still  speak,  as  no 
other  words  speak,  to  the  men  of  to-day,  and  so,  we  believe, 
they  will  continue  to  speak  to  men  for  ever. 

These  chapters  have  already  appeared  in  one  or  other  of 
the  following  magazines  :  The  Interior,  The  Congregationalist, 
The  Sunday  School  Times,  The  Biblical  World,  The  Methodist 
Quarterly  Review,  The  Record  of  Christian  Work,  The 
Presbyterian.  For  their  courteous  permission  to  reproduce 
them,  my  thanks  are  most  heartily  tendered  to  the  editors. 

John  E.  M'Fayden. 

Silver  Bay, 

Lake  George,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 


I 

PAGE 

Dwelling  in  Tents i 


II 

One  Needful  Thing n 

III 

The  Stars  Also 21 

IV 

The  Saviour  and  the  Maniac     .         .  31 

V 
The  Tower  of  Faith 41 


VI 

For  such  a  Time  as  this 51 

ix 


CONTENTS 


VII 

PAGE 

The  Passing  of  Opportunity       .         .        .        .61 


VIII 
The  Valley  of  Death 71 

IX 

Defenders  of  the  Faith 85 

X 

One  Having  Authority        .        .        .  *  -95 

XI 

The  Lord  upon  His  Throne       ....     105 

XII 

Predestined 115 

XIII 

Spears  and  Pruning-hooks 125 

XIV 
A  Lesson  in  Contrasts 137 


CONTENTS  xi 

XV 


PAGK 


The  Consolations  of  Nature      ....     145 

XVI 

Courage,  Child 155 

XVII 

The  Law  that  cannot  be  Broken      .         .        .     163 

XVIII 

Christ's  Care  for  the  Fragments      .         .         .171 

XIX 

Justification  by  Words 181 

XX 

Continually  with  Thee       .         .        .         .         .191 

XXI 

By  the  Waters  of  Rest 199 

XXII 
The  Failure  of  Success       .....     209 


xii  CONTENTS 

XXIII 

PAGE 

Bidding  Good-bye  to  God 219 

XXIV 
A  Desert  Place 225 

XXV 
In  the  Midst  of  the  Street      ....     235 

XXVI 
The  River  and  the  Dead  Sea     ....     245 


DWELLING   IN   TENTS 


DWELLING    IN   TENTS 

"Dwelling  in  Tents,  he  looked  for  the  City" 

The  earliest  ancestors  of  our  faith  were  nomads, 
and  the  imprint  of  their  wandering  life  has  been 
left  indelibly  upon  the  Christian  religion.  We 
call  ourselves  pilgrims  and  strangers.  We  say  that 
on  the  solid  earth  we  are  but  sojourners,  and  that 
only  for  a  little  while.  We  learned  these  words 
from  the  ancient  men  of  the  desert.  Every  day  the 
men  who  dwelt  in  tents  were  impressed  with  the 
mutability  of  human  things.  The  tent  could  be 
pitched  here  or  there  or  anywhere;  and  in  all  the 
shiftings  of  the  desert  life  there  was  little  sense  of 
permanence  or  home. 

In  this  ancestry  of  our  religion  we  see  the  wise 
providence  of  God.  For  if  religion  gives  us  any- 
thing, it  must  give  us  the  sense  of  something  fixed 
amid  the  uncertainties,  something  stable  amid  the 
instabilities  of  life;  and  before  we  can  appreciate 
the  city  that  standeth  fast,  whose  foundations  are 
in  the  holy  mountains,  we  must  have  the  insecurity 
of  all  things  earthly  borne  in  upon  our  soul.     Now 

the  life  of  the  early  Hebrews  was  fitted  to  impress 
b  2  3 


4         THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

them  with  just  this  sense  of  ceaseless  change  amid 
the  unchanging  monotony  of  the  desert;  and  this 
sense  of  the  uncertainties  and  shiftableness  of 
human  life  has  been  stamped  for  ever  into  the 
language  of  our  religion  by  the  wandering  fathers 
of  our  faith. 

Both  the  city  and  the  tent  have  their  contribution 
to  make  to  religion — the  city  with  its  suggestion 
of  social  activities  and  obligations,  the  tent  with  its 
suggestion  of  frailty  and  change.  The  one  is  a 
prophecy  of  the  heavenly  Jerusalem  where  men 
dwell  together  as  brethren  in  unity;  the  other  is  the 
fragile  symbol  of  our  earthly  life,  which  oftentimes 
seems  to  have  no  foundation  anywhere,  but  shifts 
its  place  with  the  changing  days,  and  finally  van- 
ishes away.  City  and  tent  alike  have  had  their 
place  in  the  shaping  and  colouring  of  religious 
thought,  and  the  service  of  the  tent  is  not  likely  to 
be  forgotten,  for  its  image  is  ever  before  us.  Here 
to-day  and  gone  to-morrow;  that  is  the  message 
of  the  tent.  Nothing  to  do  but  pull  up  the  tent- 
pins,  and  the  home  has  vanished  as  at  the  touch 
of  a  wizard's  wand.  There  is  no  home  in  all  the 
desert;  all  the  desert  is  a  home.  There  is  no  home 
but  God. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  may  often  have  risen 
in  nomad  hearts.  Such,  at  any  rate,  is  the  thought 
which  the  writer  of  the  brave  epistle  to  the  Hebrews 
sees  in  the  heart  of  Abraham,  as  he  wanders  about 


DWELLING   IN  TENTS  5 

from  spot  to  spot  in  the  land  that  was  not  his  own. 
It  was  indeed  his  own  in  the  divine  purpose,  but  it 
was  not  yet  his  by  possession ;  battles  must  be 
fought  and  blood  spilt,  ere  his  descendants  can  call 
the  land  their  own.  So  he  wandered  up  and  down 
with  a  sense  of  the  pathos  of  things  at  the  heart  of 
him. 

He  had  left  his  dear  distant  eastern  home  for  this 
western  land  where  he  was  for  ever  to  be  but  a 
pilgrim  and  stranger.  But  in  the  heart  of  the 
wanderer  was  the  solace  of  a  better  home  to  come — ■ 
in  the  city  which  has  the  foundations.  "By  faith 
he  became  a  sojourner  in  the  land  of  promise,  as  in 
a  land  not  his  own,  dwelling  in  tents  .  .  .  for  he 
looked  for  the  city  which  hath  the  foundations, 
whose  builder  and  maker  is  God."  There  are  some 
who  suppose  that  he  saw  in  vision  some  great, 
noble  city  like  the  Jerusalem  of  David  or  Solomon, 
and  that  some  such  royal  capital  was  to  be  the 
issue  and  the  compensation  of  the  relatively  meagre 
life  of  the  tent,  to  which  his  own  days  were  doomed. 
But  the  thought  in  so  great  a  passage  must  be 
larger  than  that.  The  city  which  will  comfort  the 
heart  that  is  worn  with  the  changes  and  disappoint- 
ments of  the  tent  is  not  a  city  made  with  hands, 
but  the  city  whose  designer  and  fashioner  is  God. 

Dwelling  in  tents  and  looking  for  the  city — does 
not  that  describe  the  life  of  the  profounder  souls 
of  every  age?    And  into  every  life,  however  unre- 


6         THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

fleeting,  there  come  times  when  the  awful  uncer- 
tainties which  beset  us  behind  and  before,  and 
which  on  the  smoother  planes  of  life  are  so  easily 
and  so  conveniently  forgotten,  assume  an  almost 
ghastly  reality.  Two  trains  collide  in  the  dead  of 
night;  and  beautiful  homes  are  dissolved  for  ever. 
Death  makes  inroads,  numerous  and  surprising  and 
cruel,  upon  our  friendships.  Within  a  few  weeks, 
friend  after  friend  goes  away  to  the  silent  land ;  till 
we  feel  that  the  very  ground  is  trembling  beneath 
our  feet.  We  are  so  appalled  by  our  impotence  to 
keep  with  us  those  whom  we  love,  and  by  their 
impotence  to  remain  with  us,  so  vexed  by  the  might 
of  powers  which  we  can  neither  control  nor  per- 
suade, that  we  yearn  in  our  anguish  for  a  city  with 
foundations.  Our  poor  tents  have  no  depth  of 
earth.  The  tent  is  as  unstable  as  the  sand  on 
which  it  is  pitched;  even  on  the  hillside  it  is  ex- 
posed to  every  wind  that  blows.  We  need  a  sight 
of  the  city  whose  foundation  is  the  Rock  of  Ages. 

It  is  a  daring  and  beautiful  thought  that  the 
patriarch  should  look  for  a  city.  The  author  of 
this  epistle,  like  Isaiah  and  every  true  prophet,  is 
very  bold ;  for  the  cities  with  which  he  was  familiar 
were  anything  but  divine.  What  was  Jerusalem  ? 
The  holy  city  in  name,  but  not  in  deed  or  truth. 
It  was  the  city  that  had  slain  the  prophets  and 
crucified  the  greatest  Prophet  of  all.  Of  Rome  he 
must  have  known  at  least  by  hearsay.     And  what 


DWELLING   IN  TENTS  7 

was  Rome  ?  To  its  unspeakable  corruption  there 
is  a  melancholy  unanimity  of  testimony;  we  know 
it  from  Juvenal,  from  Paul,  from  poets  and  his- 
torians only  too  many.  And  what  was  Athens, 
mother  of  arts  and  eloquence  ?  Her  educated  men 
received  the  earnest  message  of  the  greatest 
preacher  of  that  age,  or  perhaps  of  any  age,  with 
mingled  curiosity  and  scorn.  Alexandria,  Ephesus, 
everywhere  it  was  the  same.  One  would  hardly 
have  been  surprised  to  find  the  author  of  the  epistle 
rejecting  the  city  as  a  godless  thing,  and  finding 
his  ideal  in  the  ancient,  simple  life  of  the  tent.  But 
it  is  not  so.  The  home  of  his  heart  is  the  city — 
the  city  of  God. 

The  city  and  the  tent  offer  many  points  of  con- 
trast; as,  for  example,  between  the  life  of  the  one 
and  the  loneliness  of  the  other.  But  the  particular 
contrast  in  the  writer's  mind  at  this  point  is  that 
between  the  permanence  of  the  one  and  the  imper- 
manence  of  the  other.  The  city  has  foundations, 
the  tent  has  none.  The  writers  of  the  Bible  were 
haunted  by  the  insecurities  of  life;  they  knew  them- 
selves to  be  but  pilgrims  and  strangers,  and  their 
life  to  be  but  as  a  vapour  that  appeareth  for  a  little 
time  and  then  vanisheth  away.  But  they  lifted  up 
their  hearts  in  the  thought  of  the  security  of  the 
city  of  God. 

With  much  emphasis  and  beauty  John  dwells 
upon  the  fact  that  that  city  has  twelve  foundations. 


8         THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

It  was  for  foundations  that  they  longed,  and  they 
found  them  in  the  city  whose  builder  and  maker  is 
God.  Every  earthly  friendship  is  sundered  some 
day.  Sooner  or  later  every  fabric  raised  by  earthly 
hands  will  totter.     But — 

"  They  stand,  those  halls  of  Zion, 
All  jubilant  with  song." 

The  thought  here  is  a  mystic  one.  It  was  by 
faith  that  Abraham  saw  the  city,  and  the  city  which 
he  saw  was  in  the  world  beyond.  That  is  the  vision 
which  can  make  any  man  feel  secure  amid  the 
insecurities.  In  that  he  can  take  refuge  when  the 
earth  seems  to  reel,  and  a  sense  of  homelessness 
gathers  about  his  heart.  His  citizenship  is  in 
heaven,  and  nothing  can  rob  him  of  the  portion 
that  is  laid  up  for  him  in  the  new  Jerusalem,  the 
city  of  the  living  God  that  stands  fast  for  ever. 

But  elsewhere  we  are  reminded — and  do  we  not 
need  the  reminder  ?— that  the  holy  city  is  in  our 
world,  as  well  as  in  the  world  beyond,  that  it  is  a 
city  built  upon  both  sides  of  death,  and  that  it 
"comes  down  from  God  out  of  heaven."  "Behold," 
says  the  apostle  who  saw  it  and  described  it,  almost 
in  the  words  of  older  oracles — "behold,  the  tent  of 
God  is  with  men,  and  He  shall  have  His  tent  with 
them,  and  they  shall  be  His  peoples,  and  God  Him- 
self shall  be  with  them,  and  be  their  God."  No 
wonder  he  says,  Behold.  For  what  a  vision  is 
this  1     We  seem  to  be  back  in  the  age  of  tents 


DWELLING  IN  TENTS  9 

again.  But  when  God  pitches  His  tent  where  men 
pitch  theirs,  the  very  desert  shall  rejoice  and 
blossom,  and  men  will  call  it  home. 

The  clustering  tents  of  that  great  multitude  which 
no  man  can  number,  with  the  tent  of  God  in  the 
midst,  what  will  it  be  but  in  very  truth  a  city  of 
God  ?  And  is  not  the  vision  in  part  already  fact  ? 
God  has  come  down  and  dwelt  among  us,  and  men 
have  beheld  His  glory,  and  some  are  this  day  reflect- 
ing that  glory  and  being  transformed  into  the  same 
image.  The  city  of  God  is  coming  down  from 
heaven.  It  is  with  us.  Every  day  its  walls  are 
rising — in  service  faithfully  rendered,  in  the  will  of 
God  willingly  done.  The  city  of  God  is  both  a 
vision  and  a  fact,  a  hope  and  a  present  reality.  It 
has  been  the  dream  and  the  consolation  of  all  who 
have  felt  the  evanescence  of  mortal  things. 

But  it  is  more  than  a  dream.  To  take  part  in 
the  building  of  that  city  is  the  duty  and  joy  of 
every  one  who  believes  in  it.  The  heroes  of 
Hebrew  history,  whose  faith  is  immortalized  in  the 
brilliant  summary  of  this  eleventh  chapter,  played 
their  part  well.  We  shall  play  ours  by  working 
in  the  inspiration  of  their  example.  Compassed 
about  by  that  great  cloud  of  witnesses,  let  us  too 
run  with  patience  the  race  that  is  set  before  us. 
Then  even  here  we  shall  have  a  foretaste  of  citizen- 
ship in  that  city  which  hath  the  foundations,  whose 
builder  and  maker  is  God. 


ONE   NEEDFUL   THING 


ONE    NEEDFUL  THING 

"One  thing  is  needful" 

It  is  pleasant  to  find  Jesus  anywhere,  but  most 
of  all  in  the  house  of  His  friends;  and  there  is  no 
more  gracious  scene  in  all  the  gospels  than  that  in 
which  our  Lord,  doubtless  footsore  and  hungry, 
was  welcomed  by  Martha  to  her  hospitable  home. 
For  it  is  Martha  who  welcomes  Him ;  in  all  that 
pertains  to  the  household  Mary  plays  a  humbler 
role.  Through  all  this  scene  her  voice  is  not  once 
heard.  She  is  not  so  much  Mary  as  Martha's 
sister;  and  the  first  and  only  glimpse  we  have  of 
her  is  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  listening  to 
His  word.  She  had  taken  her  place  there  deliber- 
ately, as  the  words  imply.  She  knew  what  she  was 
doing.  She  had  chosen  the  good  part,  as  her 
Master  said.  Martha  thought  she  was  selfish  and 
indolent ;  but  Mary  sat  down  at  the  feet  of  the  Lord 
whom  she  loved,  sure  that  He  at  least  would  not 
misunderstand  her.  She  knew  that  the  words  of 
Jesus  were  very  precious,  and  she  could  not  be  sure 
that  He  would  ever  be  back  again. 

13 


14        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

Martha  loved  Jesus  too,  but  she  showed  her  love 
in  another  way.  She  was  bent,  like  a  good  house- 
wife, on  doing  her  utmost  for  the  great  Guest, 
whose  real  greatness  she  only  half  understood.  She 
wished  to  entertain  Him  worthily,  and  to  her  that 
meant  elaborately;  she  forgot  how  simple  His  tastes 
were,  and  how  that  His  meat  and  drink  were  to  do 
the  will  of  His  Father  in  heaven.  So  she  was  "dis- 
tracted " — to  use  the  evangelist's  expressive  word — 
"pulled  about,"  with  much  serving;  and  with  a 
blunt  impulsiveness  which  reminds  us  of  Peter,  she 
went  to  the  spot  where  Jesus  and  Mary  were — in 
another  room,  perhaps,  for  she  complains  that  Mary 
had  left  her — and,  carried  away  by  her  feelings,  she 
addressed  the  Master  in  irritable  and  almost  im- 
pertinent words  :  "  Is  it  nothing  to  Thee  that  my 
sister  has  left  me  to  do  all  the  serving  alone  ? " 
Surely  she  must  have  known  Jesus  very  well,  to 
speak  to  Him  thus  boldly.  He  was  doubtless  a 
familiar  figure  in  that  home — so  familiar  that  the 
mistress  had  lost  her  awe  of  Him,  if  ever  she  had 
any,  and  could  address  Him  even  in  imperious 
tones.  "Tell  my  sister,"  she  impetuously  says,  "to 
lend  me  a  hand." 

What  will  the  Master  say  ?  for  this  is  a  great 
moment,  which  will  put  His  resources  to  the  test. 
The  situation  is  one  of  extreme  delicacy.  Both 
the  women  love  Him.  Both  are  honouring  Him, 
though  in  widely  different  ways.     He  will  be  just 


ONE   NEEDFUL  THING  15 

to  both,  to  Martha  no  less  than  to  Mary.  He  looks 
upon  the  heart.  He  knows  the  affection  that  beats 
beneath  the  sharp,  rude  words;  and  He  will  deal 
with  her  very  tenderly.  But,  in  spite  of  her  affec- 
tion, she  lacks  one  thing  yet.  A  loving  soul  has 
gone  astray,  and  Jesus  must  bring  her  gently  back. 
"Martha,  Martha."  It  is  not  for  nothing  that  Jesus 
names  her  twice.  The  deep  and  earnest  emotion 
that  breathes  through  the  twice-repeated  name 
shows  how  much  the  incident  had  moved  Him,  and 
how  important  is  the  word  He  is  now  about  to  utter. 
"Thou  art  anxious."  He  touched  the  spot  with 
unerring  instinct. 

"He  struck  His  ringer  on  the  place, 
And  said:  'Thou  ailest  here.'" 

Martha's  soul  was  not  calm.  There  was  inner 
and  outer  unrest.  The  bustling  about  the  house 
was  but  the  counterpart  of  a  certain  unsteadiness 
within.  "Thou  art  anxious  and  troubled  about 
many  things."  Jesus  must  have  been  touched  by 
Martha's  eager  activity  about  the  many  things;  for 
were  they  not  all  in  His  honour?  All  the  same, 
it  was  a  mistake,  due  to  a  misundertanding  of  the 
nature  of  Jesus,  and  of  the  real  needs  of  men.  Hos- 
pitality, in  its  kindly,  stumbling  way,  was  trying  to 
express  itself  in  the  "many  things,"  under  the  idea 
that  the  sincerity  of  the  welcome  could  best  be 
measured  by  the  number  of  the  dishes  on  the  table. 
But  it  is  not  so.     The  many  things  are  not  needful. 


16        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

"Only  a  few  things,"  says  Jesus,  "are  necessary" — 
and  then,  after  a  pause — "or  rather  only  one." 

Was  ever  transition  from  the  material  to  the 
spiritual  sphere  more  delicately  mediated  than  by 
this  great  word  of  Jesus  ?  One  moment  we  are  at 
Martha's  table;  the  next,  we  are  in  the  spiritual 
world.  A  less  elaborate  dinner  would  do,  Jesus 
seems  to  say ;  only  a  few  things  are  needful  at  the 
table,  and  a  few  in  life;  or  rather  in  life  there  is 
only  one  thing  that  is  really  needful.  With  one 
swift,  sure  stroke  He  smote  down  into  the  eternal 
significance  of  this  pathetic  little  scene;  and  in 
words  that  are  a  marvel  of  kindliness  as  well  as  of 
solemnity,  He  brought  home  to  a  soul  distracted 
by  the  "many  things"  the  need  of  unifying  and 
simplifying  her  life.  Many  things  we  may  have, 
but  one  thing  we  must  have,  if  life  is  to  be  life. 
Many  things  are  useful,  many  are  important;  but 
one  is  necessary,  absolutely  necessary.  Mary  had 
chosen  it;  and  we  are  almost  given  to  understand — 
though  Jesus  gently  refrains  from  saying  so — that 
Martha  had  not.  While  Martha  was  preparing  one 
meal,  Mary  was  enjoying  another;  for  the  "por- 
tion "  of  which  Jesus  speaks  is  the  word  used  else- 
where for  the  share  of  a  meal.  Two  banquets  were 
preparing  in  that  house ;  and  Mary  was  already 
sitting  at  the  table  of  her  Lord  in  the  helEvenly 
world,  partaking,  at  His  gracious  hand,  of  that 
bread  of  which  he  who  takes  shall  never  hunger 


ONE   NEEDFUL  THING  17 

again.  This  portion  could  never  be  taken  away 
from  her. 

One's  sympathies  run  out  to  Martha.  It  is  easy, 
we  say,  to  honour  the  Lord  by  sitting  at  His  feet; 
it  is  a  harder  thing  by  far  to  honour  Him  by  active 
service.  And  yet  in  many  points  we  must  come  to 
feel  that  Martha  was  mistaken.  She  does  not  well 
understand  either  Mary  or  Jesus.  Her  appreciation 
of  Jesus  is  genuine  but  not  profound;  and  she  does 
not  speak  to  Him  with  the  deference  which  is  His 
due.  She  may  have  been  almost  hurt  by  His  assur- 
ance that  Mary  had  chosen  the  good  part ;  she 
thought  in  her  heart  that  Mary  had  chosen  the  bad, 
or,  at  any  rate,  the  selfish  part.  There  was  only 
one  way,  she  thought,  of  honouring  her  Lord  at 
that  moment,  and  she  herself  had  chosen  it. 

Now  there  is  no  direct  rebuke  in  the  words  of 
Jesus;  He  who  promised  an  inheritance  in  His 
Father's  kingdom  to  those  who  fed  the  hungry 
could  not  have  been  angry  with  the  woman  who 
welcomed  Him  with  so  unmistakable  a  hospitality. 
The  only  rebuke — and  it  is  graciously  indirect — 
touches  her  censoriousness  in  seeming  to  imply 
that  Mary  had  not  done  well.  But  Martha  has  to 
learn  that  she  does  not  herself  exhaust  the  possi- 
bilities of  service,  and  that  there  may  be  forms  of 
service  which  she  despises — forms,  too,  perhaps, 
superior  to  her  own.  The  more  we  look  at  this 
very  human  hostess,  with  her  restlessness,  her 
c 


18        THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

anxiety,  her  impulsiveness,  her  irritability,  her  in- 
tolerance, the  more  we  sympathize  with  the  kindly 
remonstrance  that  lies  beneath  the  searching  words 
of  Jesus.  But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  He 
does  not  directly  condemn  Martha.  His  whole 
bearing  to  her  is  one  of  inexpressible  tenderness. 
He  must  lead  her  to  see  that  there  is  a  place,  and 
a  high  one,  for  such  as  Mary ;  but  He  does  not  deny 
that  she,  too,  has  her  place.  The  contrast  between 
Martha  and  Mary  is  a  contrast  within  the  kingdom 
itself.  Real  enough  it  is,  but  not  like  that  tragic 
contrast  between  those  within  and  those  without. 
Martha  and  Mary  are  sisters,  and  their  virtues  are 
sister  virtues — Martha,  the  symbol  of  strenuous 
energy;  Mary,  the  pattern  of  sweet  contemplation. 
In  the  kingdom  of  God  there  is  a  place  for  both ; 
for  the  unwearied  activities  of  Protestantism,  and 
for  that  gracious  and  unobtrusive  devotion  which 
has  so  often  marked  Catholicism.  After  all,  it  is 
not  so  much  the  "many  things"  that  are  at  fault, 
for  all  things  are  God's;  it  is  the  being  "anxious 
and  troubled  "  about  them. 

Martha  is  anxious.  Mary  is  not  anxious.  She 
is  calm.  She  can  rest.  The  practical  person  may 
have  little  use  for  Mary.  She  may  seem  to  him  to 
be  a  simpleton  or  a  sluggard.  Yet  the  contempla- 
tive Mary  was  more  practical  than  her  practical 
sister  after  all.  She  knew  how  to  seize  the  golden 
opportunity  which  came  to  her  with  the  visit  of 


ONE   NEEDFUL  THING  19 

Jesus;  and  she  had  the  wisdom  to  gather,  in  this 
quiet  hour,  strength  for  the  lonely  days  to  come, 
when  the  Master  would  sup  with  them  no  more. 

One  thing  is  needful.  What  is  that?  It  is  very 
characteristic  of  Jesus  that  He  does  not  say.  To 
the  interpretation  of  His  great  words  we  must  go 
forth  with  our  minds,  our  imaginations,  and  our 
hearts.  He  does  not  always  tell  us  plainly  what  we 
should  so  much  wish  to  know.  He  does  not  tell  us, 
but  He  shows  us.  One  thing  is  needful.  Look  at 
Mary,  and  you  will  see  it.  There  it  is !  or  rather, 
there  she  is !  for  Mary  is  that  thing  incarnate. 
Sitting  at  the  Master's  feet,  and  hanging  wistfully 
upon  His  every  word,  she  is  an  immortal  illustra- 
tion of  the  truth  which  Jesus  would  bring  home  to 
the  restless  Martha,  and  to  all  those  eager,  strenuous 
spirits  of  which  Martha  is  the  type. 

In  one  of  its  phases,  the  one  thing  needful  is  the 
power  to  sit  down.  To  some,  every  hour  is  lost 
which  is  not  crowded  with  action.  Meals  must  be 
prepared,  and  business  transacted;  if  there  is  no 
well-spread  table  to  show,  no  achievement  to  record, 
the  time  has  been  spent  in  vain.  God  can  only  be 
served  by  busy  hands  and  nimble  feet.  But  aspira- 
tion is  as  necessary  as  action,  and  is  the  condition 
of  the  noblest  action.  True,  we  test  our  souls  in  the 
hour  of  labour  and  conflict;  but  we  win  them  in  the 
quiet  hour,  communing  with  our  own  hearts,  or 
with  those  who  are  wiser  than  we;  and  the  wisest 
C  a 


20        THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

of  all  is  Jesus.  Many  a  man  has  been  ruined 
because  he  could  not  do  this,  because  he  did  not 
know  how  to  be  happy  within  the  four  walls  of  his 
room. 

In  another  of  its  aspects,  the  one  thing  needful 
is  to  hear  the  words  of  Jesus;  for  it  was  to  hear 
those  words  that  Mary  exposed  herself  to  the  mis- 
understanding of  her  sister,  by  sitting  at  the 
Master's  feet.  Many  words  are  wise  and  fruitful, 
but  there  are  none  like  His.  None  see  so  deep  into 
life,  or  so  far  across  death ;  and  the  soul  that  does 
not  steady  itself  on  His  words  is  likely  enough  to 
be  anxious  and  troubled  about  many  things.  But 
to  sit  down  in  a  quiet  hour  when  the  mood  comes 
upon  us — for  this  mood  is  the  visit  of  Jesus— to 
read  and  ponder  His  words  till  we  learn  from  them 
that  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding,  and 
which  will  keep  us  from  being  anxious  and  troubled 
any  more  :  that  is  the  one  thing  needful. 


THE   STARS   ALSO 


THE   STARS  ALSO 

"He  made  the  stars  also" 

The  writer  of  the  great  prose  poem  with  which 
the  Bible  opens,  after  sketching,  in  majestically 
simple  outlines,  the  creation  of  the  world  with  its 
wonder  of  green,  then  turns  our  eyes  to  the  heavens, 
with  the  great  lights  which  God  set  there  to 
light  the  world.  "God  made  the  two  great  lights," 
he  tells  us ;  "the  greater  light  to  rule  the  day  and  the 
lesser  light  to  rule  the  night" ;  and  then  he  adds, 
almost  as  if  by  an  afterthought,  "  He  made  the  stars 
also." 

Many  a  soul  is  thankful  that  He  did  not  forget  the 
stars.  It  is  easy  to  believe  that  the  greater  lights 
were  hung  in  the  firmament  by  the  fingers  of  God; 
but  it  is  a  solace  to  remember  that  He  made  the 
stars  also.  The  splendid  sun  and  the  gentle  moon — 
they  are  not  more  truly  His  than  the  stars,  which 
are  so  many  that  they  cannot  be  counted  for  multi- 
tude. It  is,  perhaps,  not  too  much  to  see  in  this 
allusion  to  the  stars  a  touch  of  that  tender  regard 
which  the  Bible  shows  everywhere  for  the  small  and 

«3 


24        THE  CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

the  weak  things,  and  the  things  which  seem  to  be  of 
no  account.  In  the  lordly  sun  which  rules  the  day, 
rejoicing  like  a  hero  as  he  runs  across  the  sky,  and 
in  the  gracious  moon  which  gently  rules  the  night, 
the  Bible  does  not  forget  the  little  twinkling  stars; 
for  they  too  are  God's.    "  He  made  the  stars  also." 

Whatever  may  be  true  of  other  parts  of  the 
universe,  for  our  world  at  least  there  is  but  one 
sun  and  one  moon ;  but  there  is  a  multitude  of 
stars.  And  this  is  as  true  of  the  earth  as  of  the 
heavens.  The  very  brilliant  men  are  always  and 
necessarily  few;  and  if  it  be  our  lot  ever  to  have 
stood  near  such,  and  to  have  marvelled  at  the 
brightness  of  their  shining, — a  brightness  which 
we  know  can  never  be  ours,— we  may  have  been 
tempted  to  regret  or  even  despise  the  feeble 
flicker  of  our  own  light.  The  light  that  is  in  us 
may  not  indeed  be  altogether  darkness,  but  it  is 
to  theirs  as  starlight  unto  sunlight ;  and  we  may 
have  wondered  whether  it  would  not  be  but 
common   wisdom   to  cover  it  up  altogether. 

This  mood  is  not  an  unhealthy  one,  at  least  not 
wholly  so.  It  is  sure  to  come  at  times  upon  the 
man  who  measures  himself,  with  a  spirit  purged  of 
jealousy,  against  his  more  brilliant  and  able 
brethren.  The  man  of  balanced  judgment  who 
sees  truly  and  steadily,  will  often  enough  have  to 
confess  the  relative  futility  of  the  finest  of  his  own 
achievements.     But  when  such  a  mood  steals  over 


THE   STARS   ALSO  25 

him,  it  is  well  for  him  to  remember  that  God  made 
the  stars  also.  Such  light  as  he  has  is  a  gift  of 
God,  set  in  the  firmament  of  some  heaven  to  shine 
as  brightly  as  it  may.  It  is  no  disgrace  to  the  star 
that  it  does  not  shine  as  the  noonday  sun.  The 
star  must  be  content  to  shine  as  a  star.  Every 
man  is  not  called  to  illuminate  a  world.  If  we 
cannot  be  brilliant  men,  we  can  at  least  be  our- 
selves; and  it  is  our  duty  to  exercise  any  gift  that 
is  in  us,  without  impairing  it  by  foolish  and  fruit- 
less comparisons  of  our  work  with  that  of  our 
more  highly  favoured  brethren ;  for  more  will  be 
required  of  him  to  whom  more  is  given. 

There  cannot  be  too  much  humility ;  but  that 
which  humbles  the  man  ought  at  the  same  time 
to  inspire  and  exalt  him.  His  service,  measured 
against  the  exacting  demands  of  his  own  higher 
nature,  against  the  high  laws  of  God,  or  even 
against  the  service  of  some  of  his  more  gifted 
fellow-men,  may  well  seem  so  poor  as  to  be  hardly 
worth  while.  But  when  it  becomes  the  clear  con- 
viction of  his  soul  that  God  made  him, — not  only 
made  the  men  who  in  the  various  spheres  of  human 
activity  are  as  burning  and  shining  lights,  but 
made  him  also, — he  puts  bravely  away  from  him 
the  paralyzing  sense  of  his  own  insignificance,  and 
proceeds  with  a  happy  heart  to  do  with  his  might 
what  his  hands  find  to  do. 

Even  in  the  name  of  the  Christian  gospel,  a  pro- 


26        THE  CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

test  must  be  lifted  up  against  the  self-depreciation 
which  cripples  a  man's  power  of  serving  the  world. 
Those  who  believe  that  they  are  sons  of  God  and 
joint-heirs  with  Christ,  and  who  count  themselves,  in 
some  real  sense,  to  be  fellow-workers  with  God  and 
brethren  with  Jesus  Christ,  are  bound  in  honour 
to  act  up  to  the  dignity  of  the  name  with  which  they 
are  named.  On  the  conscience  of  every  one  who 
believes  that  he  has  been  bought  with  a  price,  ought 
to  lie  the  solemn  obligation  to  assert  in  some  vital 
way  that  individuality  which  has  been  blessed  and 
redeemed. 

Sometimes,  too,  it  does  us  good  to  remember  that 
we  are  not  infallible  judges  of  the  ultimate  worth 
either  of  our  own  work  or  of  any  other  man's.  We 
think  the  stars  are  tiny  because  they  are  so  far 
away;  we  count  them  insignificant  because  they  do 
not  shed  much  light  upon  our  world.  But  if  we 
could  traverse  the  millions  of  miles  that  separate 
us  from  them,  and  see  them  as  they  are,  we  should 
find  how  foolishly  inadequate  had  been  our  notion 
of  their  size  and  brilliance,  of  the  work  they  do  and 
the  place  they  fill  in  the  economy  of  the  universe. 
And  may  it  not  be  so  too  with  the  seemingly  feeble 
lights  of  humanity  ?  Nay,  what  are  even  the  most 
brilliant  lights  when  seen  in  the  burning  light  of 
God  ?  Men  do  not  differ  so  much  as  we  think.  All 
are  under  one  condemnation,  and  all  are  destined 
to  a  common  oblivion. 


THE   STARS   ALSO  27 

"We  pass;  the  path  that  each  man  trod 
Is  dim,  or  will  be  dim,  with  weeds  : 
What  fame  is  left  for  human  deeds 
In  endless  age?     It  rests  with  God." 

No  man  is  altogether  destitute  of  light;  for  the 
true  light,  we  are  told,  lighteth  every  man  that 
cometh  into  the  world.  The  light  that  is  in  most  of 
us  is  indeed  only  starlight ;  but  what  then  ?  The 
moon  and  the  stars  were  set  in  the  firmament  to  rule 
by  night.  The  language  here  is  that  of  an  ancient 
world  that  had  once  looked  upon  the  stars  as  divine 
beings  which  did,  in  very  truth,  rule  over  the  night ; 
and  though  that  view  was  not  shared  by  the  writer 
of  Genesis  any  more  than  by  ourselves,  it  is  not 
without  its  element  of  truth.  There  must  be  order 
in  the  firmament,  and  the  dark  night  has  to  be 
ruled.  It  is  when  the  night  is  about  us  that  the 
stars  are  welcome.  It  is  then  that  we  need  them, 
and  it  is  only  then  that  they  can  help  us.  There 
was  more  than  humour  in  the  quaint  remark  of  an 
earnest  Christian  worker,  that  the  stars  were  more 
important  than  the  sun  ;  for  the  sun  shone,  he  said, 
when  it  was  light,  but  the  stars  shone  in  the  dark, 
when  they  were  needed. 

The  night  about  us  is  always  dark  enough,  and 
any  glimmer  of  a  star  is  sure  to  be  a  welcome  sight 
to  somebody.  Too  often  is  the  situation  in  church 
and  city  and  state  like  that  of  the  ship  described  by 
Luke,  when  "neither  sun  nor  stars  shone  upon  us 
for  many  days,  and  no  small  tempest  lay  on  us,  and 


28        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

all  hope  that  we  should  be  saved  was  now  taken 
away."  We  have  never  more  light  than  we  need. 
Wherever  our  lot  may  be  cast,  there  is  darkness 
enough  of  mind  and  heart  in  the  sphere  about  us, 
which  any  light  that  is  in  us  was  divinely  intended 
to  dispel.  It  was  Jesus  who  said,  "Let  your  light 
shine."  That  is  all  that  a  light  can  be  expected  to 
do.  The  greater  lights  can  do  no  more;  the  lesser 
lights  should  do  no  less. 

Are  we  then  shining  ones?  If  indeed  the  true 
light  lighteth  every  man,  there  must  be  at  least 
some  glimmer  within  me,  even  me,  of  that  divine 
light  whose  unspeakable  glory  no  man  can  ap- 
proach unto.  There  must  be  in  me  some  little 
gleam,  unless,  indeed — and  this  is  sadly  possible — 
I  have  deliberately  quenched  it.  Am  I  allowing 
such  light  as  I  have  to  shine,  or  am  I  contributing 
nothing  to  illumine  the  thick  darkness  of  that  world 
which  I  touch  most  closely  ?  It  is  not  given  to  all, 
or  even  to  many,  to  move  large  numbers  of  their 
fellow-men  by  persuasive  pen  or  by  eloquent 
tongue;  nor  is  it  given  to  many  to  penetrate  the 
hidden  things  of  nature,  or  seriously  to  affect  the 
course  of  history.  But  none  the  less,  the  call  of 
Jesus  is  to  all,  "Let  your  light  shine."  Be  it 
brilliant  or  feeble,  its  duty  is  to  shine. 

Do  you  know  of  any  whose  minds  are  dwelling 
in  the  darkness  of  ignorance,  strangers  to  the 
uplifting  thoughts  that  are  imprisoned  by  the  score 
irt  the  books  upon  your  bookshelves — thoughts  lying 


THE   STARS  ALSO  29 

there  like  sleeping  giants,  ready  to  go  out  and  do 
battle  for  the  deluded  and  the  ignorant  the  moment 
they  are  wakened  and  set  free  ?  The  gift  or  the 
loan  of  such  a  book  would  be  to  the  mind  that  is 
darkened  by  ignorance  as  the  rising  of  the  morn- 
ing star.  It  may  not  seem  much  to  us,  but  it  may 
be  everything  to  him.  Hamerton  has  truly  said 
that  "it  is  with  our  intellectual  as  with  our  material 
wealth ;  we  do  not  realize  how  precious  some 
fragments  of  it  might  be  to  our  poorer  neighbours." 
Even  if  we  have  no  books  to  lend,  nor  any  ideas 
to  impart,  there  are  other  and  even  better  ways  in 
which  we  may  be  as  a  light  shining  in  a  dark 
place.  About  us  there  are  hearts  that  are  gloomy  or 
sullen  or  sad,  hearts  that  are  losing  faith  in  God 
because  they  see  so  few  gleams  of  the  divine  in 
those  who  call  themselves  His  children.  That 
darkness  can  sometimes  be  dispelled  by  the  quiet 
light  of  a  simple  goodness  that  shines  steadily 
from  day  to  day.  It  is  not  the  light  of  genius, 
but  the  nobler  light  of  goodness.  It  is  unaffected 
and  unobtrusive,  but  it  is  as  a  benediction  of  God  to 
all  upon  whom  it  falls.  The  gentle  faces  of  some 
whom  we  know  have  weaned  the  murmurer  from 
his  murmuring;  they  have  brought  their  own  sweet 
peace  to  hearts  that  were  rebellious.  They  have 
made  us  believe  in  the  beauty  of  goodness.  And 
they  shall  shine  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  when 
the  stars  are  forgotten. 


THE  SAVIOUR  AND  THE  MANIAC 


THE    SAVIOUR    AND   THE    MANIAC 

"He  besought  Jesus  that  he  might  be  with  Him" 

Of  all  the  encounters  of  Jesus  with  men,  surely 
none  is  more  striking  than  His  meeting  with  the 
maniac  whose  home  was  among  the  tombs.  Jesus 
had  just  left  the  boat,  and  stepped  upon  the  shore, 
when  from  out  one  of  the  caves  that  served  for  a 
burying-place  among  the  limestone  hills  there 
rushed  towards  Him  a  creature  that  seemed  not  so 
much  like  a  human  being  as  like  an  evil  spirit  incar- 
nate. Perhaps  the  unhappy  man  had  been  watch- 
ing the  boat  coming  across  the  lake ;  and  with  the 
swift  bounds  of  a  maniac,  he  made  straight  for 
the  Master  as  He  disembarked.  It  was  always  so 
with  Jesus.  No  sooner  did  He  touch  the  land  than 
He  was  met  by  human  want  and  misery. 

How  very  touching  is  the  contrast  between  these 
two  men — the  Saviour  and  the  maniac;  immortal 
symbol  of  the  world,  wild  and  gloomy,  hopeless 
and  homeless,  rushing  on  to  offer  its  instinctive 
and  unconscious  homage  to  the  Jesus  whom  it 
needs.  There  stands  the  Master,  with  His  quiet, 
fearless  bearing,  with  His  sorrowful  face  and  His 
d  33 


34         THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

beautiful  eyes;  and  there,  at  His  feet,  is  the  demo- 
niac, wild  and  fierce  and  naked,  with  the  strength 
of  a  demon  in  his  right  arm  and  the  awful  light  of 
madness  in  his  eye.  Not  only  all  the  day,  but  all 
the  night,  when  other  men  were  sleeping,  the 
lonely  hills  where  he  made  his  home  would  ring 
with  his  unearthly  cries,  and  he  would  gash  himself 
with  stones  until  the  blood  would  spurt.  So  power- 
ful was  he  that  he  could  burst  the  heavy  chains  with 
which  he  had  been  bound,  and  so  terrible  was  he 
that  the  bravest  were  afraid  to  pass  that  way. 

No  one  would  pass  but  Jesus.  He  was  not  afraid. 
Such  were  the  ways  He  loved  to  pass.  He  loved  to 
set  the  fallen  upon  their  feet,  to  restore  again  the 
ruins  of  human  nature ;  and  to  heal  this  wild  misery 
which  rushed  towards  Him  from  the  hills,  and  then 
threw  itself  impulsively  at  His  feet,  was  just  to  do 
the  work  which  His  Father  had  given  Him  to  do. 
A  brave  heart  might  well  have  quailed  before  such 
an  onset,  and  fled  perhaps  in  terror;  but  Jesus 
stood  and,  looking  upon  him,  loved  him.  We 
listen  with  bated  breath  to  hear  what  He  will  say 
to  this  poor,  unhappy  and  dangerous  man.  Jesus 
is  always  simple,  serenely  and  sublimely  simple. 
He  does  not  begin  by  preaching  any  gospel,  He 
simply  asks  the  man  his  name.  And  we  may  well 
believe  that  the  maniac's  manner  would  be  instantly 
transformed.  Here  was  a  voice  which  sounded  as 
perhaps  no  human  voice  before  or  since  has  sounded 


THE   SAVIOUR   AND   THE   MANIAC        35 

— the  quiet,  gentle,  affectionate  tone  must  have 
gone  home  with  healing  to  the  recesses  of  that  shat- 
tered mind ;  and  here  were  the  words  of  One  who 
spoke  to  him  as  a  man  speaks  to  his  friend.  Other 
men  had  repeatedly  come  to  bind  him  with  their 
cruel  chains;  who  could  this  be  who  came  with  no 
chain,  but  who  bound  him  all  the  more  firmly  by 
the  gentle  bonds  of  love  ? 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  in  the  quiet,  authoritative 
presence  of  Jesus,  the  maniac  is  transformed?  He, 
who  before  was  naked,  now  is  clothed.  He,  who 
before  rushed  with  wild  frenzy  about  the  desolate 
hills,  now  sits  quietly  at  the  feet  of  Jesus.  He,  who 
before  was  possessed  by  devils,  is  now  possessed 
by  the  spirit  of  Jesus. 

And  such  were  some  of  us.  Before  Jesus  laid 
His  gentle  hand  upon  us  and  spoke  to  us  the  simple 
words  that  reached  our  hearts,  we  too,  like  the 
demoniac,  were  not  only  useless,  but  dangerous,  a 
menace  to  those  who  met  us  and  passed  by  our 
way.  Our  haunts  were  among  the  tombs  and  not 
far  from  the  swine.  But  there  came  a  day  when  we 
left  the  tombs  and  met  Jesus,  or  rather  were  met 
by  Him,  upon  the  shore.  And  then  it  was  all  so 
different.  We  saw  life  with  other  eyes.  We  wan- 
dered no  more  wildly  upon  the  hills,  among  the 
tombs  and  near  the  swine;  but  we  sat  down,  with 
rapture  in  our  hearts,  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  we 
would  have  wished  to  remain  there  for  evermore. 

D  2 


36        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

But  Jesus  will  not  have  that.  There  is  a  time  to 
sit,  with  the  demoniac,  at  the  Master's  feet,  and 
there  is  a  time  to  rise  and  go.  The  story  of  the 
Gerasene  is  almost  more  touching  at  the  end  than 
at  the  beginning.  For  we  are  told  that  as  Jesus 
was  going  into  the  boat  again,  the  man  whose  mind 
He  had  restored,  began  to  entreat  Him  for  permis- 
sion to  remain  with  Him.  Nothing  seemed  more 
reasonable.  What  a  disciple  this  man  would  have 
made  !  Every  fresh  exercise  of  self-control,  every 
sane  word  he  uttered,  would  be  an  irresistible  re- 
minder of  the  debt  he  owed  to  Jesus;  and  what  more 
natural  than  that  he  should  wish  to  be  for  ever 
beside  the  great  Benefactor  who  had  transformed 
his  life? 

Yet  Jesus  refused.  As  he  earnestly  besought 
Jesus  to  be  allowed  to  remain  by  Him,  "Jesus  suf- 
ered  him  not,  but  said,  '  Go.'  "  Why  was  he  so 
anxious  to  remain,  and  why  was  Jesus  so  insistent 
that  he  should  go?  Some  ancient  writers  suppose 
that  the  man  was  afraid  that  in  the  absence  of  Jesus 
the  demons  might  return.  The  horrible  memory 
of  his  madness  may  have  haunted  his  mind,  and  he 
was  afraid  to  leave  Jesus.  He  knew  that  Jesus  was 
stronger  than  the  demons  who  had  tormented  him ; 
and  he  would  have  been  prepared  to  walk  through 
any  valley,  however  long  and  dark  and  peopled 
with  evil  spirits,  if  only  there  was  One  continually 
near  him  to  whom  he  could  say,  "Thou  art  with 


THE   SAVIOUR   AND  THE   MANIAC        37 

me :  Thy  rod  and  Thy  staff,  they  comfort  me." 
For  a  moment,  his  heart  may  have  sunk,  as  Jesus 
uttered  His  first  stern  word,  "Go." 

Why  did  Jesus  refuse  the  man's  request?  Partly 
for  the  world's  sake  and  partly  for  the  man's  own. 
"Go,"  said  Jesus,  "to  thy  house,  to  thine  own 
people,  and  tell  them  all  that  the  Lord,  in  pity,  hath 
done  for  thee."  The  saved  man  has  to  be,  in  his 
turn,  a  saviour,  or  at  least  a  preacher.  Anything 
that  he  knows  about  Jesus,  those  who  are  dear  to 
him  should  know  too.  "Go  to  thine  own  people 
and  tell  them."  Upon  the  man  who  has  been  re- 
deemed, who  has  passed  from  insanity  to  soundness 
of  mind,  from  lonely  misery  to  fulness  of  joy,  lies 
the  obligation  to  tell  the  story  to  those  whom  he 
can  influence,  first  to  those  of  his  own  household, 
and  then  to  those  beyond  it ;  for  if  a  man  has  been 
healed  by  the  shores  of  the  sea  of  Galilee,  then 
Decapolis  has  a  right  to  know  about  it  too.  Life 
upon  the  mountains  and  among  the  tombs  is  no 
more  possible  for  such  an  one  :  he  must  go  with 
his  message  among  the  men  who  need  it.  The  new 
power  which  Jesus  has  brought  into  his  life  is  not 
only  for  himself,  but  for  them.  Inspiration  has  to 
be  translated  into  action,  knowledge  and  power 
into  service.  The  work  for  which  he  was  redeemed 
will  not  be  done  if  he  sits  at  Jesus'  feet.  So,  for 
the  world's  sake,  Jesus  says,  "Go." 

But  no  less  for  the  man's  sake.     He  has  to  learn 


38        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

that  the  power  which  redeemed  him  can  keep  him, 
whether  the  bodily  presence  of  Jesus  is  near  him 
or  not.  Perhaps,  like  many  men,  he  was  anxiously 
dependent  upon  a  visible  support  to  his  faith ;  and 
the  gracious  Jesus,  who  loved  him  better  than  he 
knew,  deliberately  sent  him  away,  that  he  might 
learn  the  true  meaning  of  spiritual  religion.  "Go 
and  tell  what  the  Lord  hath  done."  The  Lord  was 
the  Lord  of  all  the  earth,  and  everywhere  He  might 
be  found.  When  Jesus  entered  into  His  boat,  and 
was  lost  to  sight  across  the  lake,  the  power  which 
He  represented  did  not  vanish  with  Him  ;  and  Jesus 
wished  to  bring  home  to  this  redeemed  but  anxious 
soul,  that  the  divine  resources  were  always  at  the 
disposal  of  the  man  who  trusted  them — alike  upon 
the  sea  and  land,  upon  the  valleys  and  the  hills,  in 
the  crowded  city  and  on  the  waste  and  desolate 
place  where  no  man  is.  God  and  His  power  and 
His  love  are  everywhere. 

Thus  it  is  in  the  loving  wisdom  of  God  that  we 
are  sometimes  called  by  circumstances  to  leave  the 
friends  who  have  been  the  support  of  our  religious 
life.  He  wishes  us  to  stand  upon  our  own  feet  and 
to  rise  to  our  full  spiritual  stature.  When  we 
beseech  Him  to  allow  us  to  remain,  He  sometimes 
sends  us  away  in  order  that  we  may  be  our  best  and 
bravest.  Religion  has  been  made  real  to  us  by  some 
brave,  strong  man,  or  by  some  sweet,  pure  woman ; 
and  we  are  too  prone  to  identify  it  with  them. 


THE   SAVIOUR   AND  THE   MANIAC        39 

Near  them  we  can  believe  in  God;  far  from  them 
we  are  afraid  of  ourselves.  Life  would  be  easier 
with  them  beside  us  :  that  is  why  God  sends  us 
away.  An  easy  religion  is  not  worth  while.  We 
must  learn  that  when  we  part  from  those  whom  we 
love,  or  they  from  us,  we  do  not  part  from  God. 
They  step  into  the  boat,  and  with  breaking  hearts 
we  watch  them  move  across  the  lake  and  pass  out 
of  our  sight  for  ever;  but  have  we  not  the  solace 
of  that  unseen  Companion  who  said,  "  Lo  1  I  am 
with  you  alway  "  ? 


THE   TOWER   OF    FAITH 


THE   TOWER   OF   FAITH 

"Though  it  tarry,  wait  for  it" 

The  sceptic  and  the  prophet,  widely  as  they 
differ,  are  alike  at  least  in  this,  that  they  both 
honestly  face  facts.  They  are  both  seers;  only  the 
one  sees  more,  the  other  less.  The  sceptic  sees  the 
facts  at  his  feet;  the  prophet,  while  not  blind  to 
these,  also  sets  his  eyes  on  the  far-away.  The 
sceptic  sees  the  confusions,  and  is  perplexed,  per- 
haps provoked  into  sarcasm ;  the  prophet  sees  the 
order  behind  and  beyond,  and  is  comforted  by  it. 
He  knows  of  the  mountain  behind  the  mist.  The 
mist,  which  the  sceptic  sees,  is  a  fact — as  much  of 
a  fact,  while  it  is  there,  as  the  mountain.  But  it  is 
not  the  fact.  The  wind  dissipates  it;  but  no  wind 
can  dissipate  the  mountains. 

Neither  sceptic  nor  prophet  would  willingly 
"make  his  judgment  blind."  The  prophet  would 
be  no  prophet  were  he  to  purchase  his  serenity  by 
closing  his  eyes  to  the  anomalies  and  the  tragedies 
which,  from  time  immemorial,  have  confirmed  the 
sceptic  in  his  scepticism,  and  staggered  the  faith  even 
of  good  men.     He  must  gaze,  sorrowfully  indeed, 

43 


44        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

yet  unflinchingly,  upon  it  all.  He  may  see  through 
it.  He  may  see  beyond  it.  But  he  has  first  of  all 
to  see  it,  or  he  can  be  of  little  service  to  the  man 
whom  it  perplexes.  This  honest  recognition  of 
fact  the  sceptic  and  the  prophet  share  in  common ; 
and  so  it  happens  that  the  man  who  begins  as  a 
sceptic  may  end  as  a  prophet.  He  earnestly  looks 
at  the  things  which  have  made  men  resentful  and 
rebellious;  and  the  more  earnestly  he  looks,  the 
more  surely  will  he  learn  to  see  not  those  things 
only,  but  the  dawning  of  that  larger  purpose  to 
which  these  things  and  all  things  contribute. 

Even  the  greatest  prophets  were  sometimes  per- 
plexed, and  they  spoke  to  God  in  words  of  passion- 
ate remonstrance.  It  was  so  with  Habakkuk.  The 
times  in  which  he  lived  were  out  of  joint.  He 
looked  for  order,  and  behold  !  confusion.  Success 
seemed  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  battalions.  Chal- 
dean armies,  strong  and  terrible,  were  scouring 
Western  Asia,  and  sweeping  irresistibly  into  their 
net  the  weaker  peoples  that  stood  in  their  way. 
Judah  is  impotent.  She,  too,  is  caught  and  held 
fast,  grateful  if  the  life  is  not  crushed  out  of  her. 
As  a  political  and  religious  force,  she  is  likely  to 
be  extinguished,  and  Habakkuk's  heart  is  sore. 
Almost  in  despair,  he  appeals  to  Israel's  "holy  and 
everlasting  God,"  and  asks  what  means  such  an 
impious  triumph.  Is  it,  after  all,  might  and  not 
right,  that  is  at  the  heart  of  things  ? 


THE   TOWER   OF  FAITH  45 

What  does  the  prophet  do?  In  the  tumult  of 
his  soul,  he  resolves  to  climb  his  tower. 

"On  my  watch  I  will  take  my  stand 
And  I  will  set  me  on  my  tower, 
And  I  will  spy  out  to  see  what  He  will  say  to  me, 
And  what  answer  He  will  make  to  my  complaint." 

Down  among  the  noise  and  confusion,  he  can  see 
nothing,  hear  nothing — nothing  at  least  that 
steadies  and  inspires  him.  He  must  reach  a  van- 
tage point,  from  which  he  can  see ;  he  must  climb 
his  tower.  For  the  seer  must  be  above  the  crowd 
and  the  confusion.  He  must  be,  like  his  God, 
"high  and  lifted  up."  Only  then  can  he  see  the 
meaning  and  perspective  of  the  battle  below,  and 
watch  its  seeming  confusions  contribute  to  a  larger 
order.  So  he  takes  his  stand,  he  sets  himself.  The 
words  imply  deliberate  purpose,  such  as  that  of  the 
soldier  who  plants  his  foot  firmly  in  the  day  of 
battle.  It  was  not  possible  for  him  to  keep  his  feet 
in  the  field  below.  The  crowd  was  seething  and 
shouting,  lamenting  and  blaspheming;  and  he, 
with  it,  was  being  swayed  hither  and  thither. 
Below,  all  is  flux;  but  on  his  tower  he  can  stand. 
There  is  the  vision  and  the  peace. 

It  is  in  no  sceptical  mood  that  the  prophet  climbs 
his  tower.  Watch  him  as  he  mounts  with  those 
sorrowful  eyes  of  his  kindling  with  another  light; 
for  he  is  quite  sure  that  his  God  will  have  something 
to  show  him  or  tell  him.     "I  will  spy  out  to  see 


46        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

what  He  will  say,"  for  say  something  He  will.  He 
will  not  leave  His  prophet  to  the  gloomy  doubts 
of  his  own  heart.  So  up  he  goes  with  confidence — 
away,  for  the  time,  from  the  men  whom  he  would 
help  below.  There  will  always  be  a  certain  loneli- 
ness about  the  true  prophet.  He  must  indeed  be 
a  man  among  men,  one  who  is  touched  to  anger, 
as  Habakkuk  was,  by  the  oppression  he  sees  around 
him,  one  who  can  read  the  signs  of  the  times,  and 
who  is  sensitive  to  every  change  on  the  social  and 
political  horizon ;  yet  he  must  also  know  what  it  is 
to  "sit  above  it  all;  alone  with  the  stars."  There 
must  be  in  his  life  a  certain  detachableness.  He 
will  not  see  much  if  he  is  for  ever  rubbing  shoulders 
with  the  crowd.  He  must  sometimes  be  above 
them.  He  must  be  able  to  see  what  they  cannot 
see,  and  he  will  not  see  much  without  a  tower. 

No  man  ever  climbs  and  listens  long  and  patiently 
in  vain.  "I  will  spy  out  to  see  what  He  will  say 
.  .  .  and  Jehovah  answered  me  and  said,  .  .  ." 
There  is  a  vision  for  the  man  who  will  climb,  and 
an  answer  for  the  man  who  knows  how  to  wait  and 
prepare  himself  for  it.  As  the  prophet  went  up, 
Jehovah  came  down.  It  is  His  delight  to  come 
down  to  show  something  to  the  man  who  will 
climb.  But  the  man  has  to  put  himself  where  he 
can  see  and  hear.  He  must  give  God  a  chance. 
He  must  rise  above  the  crowd,  and  all  the  more,  if 
it  is  his  ambition  to  be  of  any  use  to  them.     Every 


THE  TOWER  OF   FAITH  47 

word  heard  by  such  a  man,  every  vision  seen  from 
such  a  tower,  is  of  permanent  value.  It  is  a  mes- 
sage not  only  for  the  prophet,  but  also  for  those  to 
whom  he  ministers.  Therefore  it  has  to  be  written 
— as  Jehovah  tells  His  prophet — written  so  large 
and  plain  that  no  one  can  misread  or  ignore  it.  The 
true  prophet  is  not  afraid  to  challenge  the  world 
with  his  message.  He  is  ready  to  publish  it  in  the 
market-place  or  proclaim  it  on  the  housetops.  He 
will  engrave  it  on  tablets,  as  Habakkuk  did,  or  give 
it  the  like  permanence  of  the  printed  page,  if  need 
be;  for  he  is  neither  ashamed  nor  afraid.  Such  a 
message  deserves  permanent  record ;  for,  being  in- 
tended to  create  and  steady  faith,  it  concerns  every- 
body. It  is  at  once  a  consolation  and  a  challenge; 
a  consolation  to  those  who  endure  in  spite  of  ap- 
pearances, a  challenge  to  an  unbelieving  world. 
The  ultimate  issue  is  both  clear  and  certain  to  a 
true  seer.  He  is  neither  afraid  to  trust  it  nor  to 
proclaim  it. 

That  issue  is  clear,  but  it  may  be  far  away ;  and 
this  is  the  burden  of  the  prophet's  message  :  "The 
vision  is  speeding  on  to  the  end ;  and  if  it  tarry,  wait 
for  it."  It  is  a  word  of  patience  as  well  as  of  faith. 
"In  your  patience  ye  shall  win  your  souls."  Once 
the  prophet  had  not  only  hoped,  but  believed,  that 
the  great  work  for  which  he  was  looking  would  be 
wrought  "in  your  days,"  that  is,  in  the  days  of  his 
own  contemporaries.     Some  swift  and  marvellous 


48        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

interposition  of  God  would  come,  he  trusted,  within 
that  generation,  to  confound  the  unbelievers  and 
confirm  the  faithful.  But  now  his  impatience  has 
been  rebuked  by  the  vision  from  the  tower.  It  has 
taught  him  that  eternity  is  very  long,  and  that 
history  is  not  so  simple  a  thing  as  he  had  once 
thought.  Its  forces  are  infinitely  complex,  and  the 
sharpest  eyes  cannot  see  all  that  will  happen  "in 
our  day."  The  just  shall  live;  the  right  will 
triumph;  and  that  is  all  we  know.  Nay,  the  just 
does  live,  and  the  right  does  already  triumph  in 
every  such  honest  and  steadfast  soul  as  Habakkuk. 
When  out  of  his  perplexity  he  ascends  his  tower, 
with  the  quiet  confidence  in  his  heart  that  God  will 
speak  some  word  to  him,  the  victory  is  already  his. 
In  the  world  he  is  above  the  world. 

That  may  indeed  be  a  solitary  triumph.  But 
every  generation  sees  it  shared  by  more  and  more ; 
and  it  is  only  a  question  of  time — or,  shall  we  rather 
say,  of  eternity? — till  it  will  be  shared  by  a  great 
multitude  which  no  man  can  number.  For  that 
is  Habakkuk's  vision  :  the  just  shall  live.  It  is 
right  and  not  might  that  wins,  and  can  alone  win, 
in  a  world  created  and  upheld  by  a  God  who  is  "holy 
from  everlasting."  How  it  will  come  and  when  it 
will  come  we  do  not  know.  Habakkuk  did  not 
know.  No  man  knows.  No  man  needs  to  know. 
But  that  it  will  come  is  certain.  It  is  coming  every 
day,  most  often  silently  and  without  observation, 


THE  TOWER  OF  FAITH  49 

but  very,  very  surely.  If  we  see  no  trace  of  the 
workings  of  God  in  a  month,  we  may  see  it  in  a 
year;  if  not  in  a  year,  we  may  see  it  in  a  century. 
For  all  the  ages  are  God's.  It  was  this  confidence 
— amid  much  that  was  so  bafriingly  uncertain — in 
the  essential  and  ultimate  triumph  of  good,  that 
sustained  the  prophet's  soul. 

"The  vision  is  yet  for  the  appointed  time, 
It  is  speeding  on  to  the  end,  and  it  will  not  deceive. 
If  it  tarry,  wait  for  it, 
For  it  is  sure  to  come,  it  will  not  be  behind." 

From  the  tower  Habakkuk  sees  how  the  purposes  of 
God  stretch  from  the  seeming  confusion  at  his  feet 
away  into  a  far  country.  His  righteousness  is  like 
the  everlasting  mountains,  whose  outlines  can  be 
seen  a  great  way  off.  The  vision  is  for  the  ap- 
pointed time,  and  that  time  is  not  yet.  It  is  in  the 
coming  days.  It  may  be  slow,  but  it  is  sure.  God 
has  fixed  a  time  for  it,  and  it  will  not  be  late.  In 
the  prophet's  words,  "It  will  not  come  up  after- 
wards" It  knows  its  time,  and  if  without  haste, 
yet  also  without  rest,  it  is  moving  on  to  the  end. 
Every  century,  every  year,  brings  it  a  little  nearer. 
But  do  not  lose  faith  or  patience,  if  it  does  not  come 
"in  your  day."  The  times  are  in  the  hand  of  God. 
"Wait  for  it,  for  it  is  sure  to  come,  it  will  not  lag 
behind."  Upon  his  tower,  the  prophet  has  learnt 
something  of  that  patience  which  is  born  of  seeing 
things  in  the  light  of  the  eternal   purpose.     He 


50        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

began  his  career  with  impatience.  He  quarrelled 
with  the  ways  of  God.  He  asked,  How  long?  and 
why?  But  that  word  passes  when  he  climbs  his 
watch-tower  and  looks  out  with  grateful  awe  upon 
that  mysterious  but  beneficent  purpose  which  runs 
through  all  the  ages. 

Do  men  not  fret  themselves  to-day  just  as  Habak- 
kuk  did,  and  with  perhaps  less  than  his  excuse? 
The  Chaldeans  are  vexing  us;  and  we  hope  and 
pray  that  God  will  hasten  His  work  and  bring  some 
notable  thing  to  pass  in  our  day.  There  are  some 
who  are  even  ready  to  proclaim  the  day  when  it 
will  come,  and  the  form  which  it  will  take.  There 
are  others  who,  in  their  pathetic  impatience,  would 
precipitate  some  other  aspect  of  the  divine  purpose 
— the  coming  of  Christ,  it  may  be,  or  the  end  of  the 
world.  Now  all  these  things  are  in  the  hand  of 
God.  Our  part  is  not  to  dogmatize  or  prophesy; 
it  is  to  trust  that  wisdom  which  we  confess  to  be 
infinitely  above  our  own,  and,  in  that  trust,  to  work 
earnestly  and  wait  patiently.  God  is  from  ever- 
lasting to  everlasting.  His  purpose  is  not  exhausted 
within  the  span  of  our  little  lives.  It  will  be  after 
us,  as  it  was  before  us.  It  has  eternity  for  its  ac- 
complishment, and  if  it  tarry,  wait  for  it,  for  it  is 
sure  to  come,  it  will  not  be  behind.  It  may  indeed 
lag  behind  our  hopes,  and  even  behind  our  prayers; 
but  the  omnipotent  wisdom  of  God  will  see  that  it 
is  in  time.  We  are  fretful,  because  we  are  creatures 
of  a  day;  God  is  patient,  because  He  is  eternal. 


FOR   SUCH    A   TIME   AS   THIS 


FOR   SUCH   A  TIME   AS  THIS 

"Who  knoweth  whether  thou  art   not  come  to  the  kingdom 
for  such  a  time  as  this  ? " 

Brilliance  and  heroism  are  not  always  united, 
but  they  are  in  the  romantic  figure  of  Esther.  Her 
story  glows  with  all  the  colour  and  passion  of  the 
East ;  it  reads  more  like  romance  than  history.  Yet 
the  brilliance  of  the  colouring  must  not  blind  us  to 
the  skill  and  truth  with  which  the  figures  of  the 
book  are  drawn ;  and  of  them  all,  none  is  so  drawn 
to  the  life  as  the  lovely  heroine  herself. 

By  seeming  accident  she  had  been  lifted  from 
obscurity  to  the  throne ;  and  there,  amid  the  security 
and  splendour  of  the  court,  she  learns  one  day  that 
the  life  of  her  people  is  in  deadly  peril,  and  she 
alone  can  save  them.  Mordecai  sought  to  lay  it 
upon  her  conscience  that  she  must  go  to  the  king 
and  make  supplication  to  him  for  the  forfeited  lives 
of  her  kinsmen.  But  then,  as  so  often,  duty  was 
dangerous,  and  Esther  shrank  from  the  perilous 
task.  " Every  one  knows,"  she  says,  "that  the  man 
or  woman  who  comes  before  the  king  unbidden 
shall  be  put  to  death,  unless  the  king  hold  out  the 

S3 


54        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

golden  sceptre."  The  effort  to  help  her  people  by 
appearing  before  the  king  might  end  in  destroying 
both  herself  and  them ;  and,  at  first,  the  beautiful 
queen  would  not  take  the  risk.  Then  Mordecai, 
not  to  be  baffled,  appealed  to  the  heroic  in  her. 
Her  unique  position  gave  her  a  unique  opportunity  ; 
let  her  rise  to  it  bravely.  "Who  knows  whether 
thou  art  not  come  to  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time 
as  this  ?  " 

These  words  instantly  lit  the  whole  career  of 
Esther  with  a  new  and  solemn  meaning.  It  was, 
then,  not  for  nothing  that  she  was  queen,  and  it 
was  not  an  accident  that  had  set  her  upon  the 
throne.  This  was  the  crisis  to  which,  throughout 
the  brilliant,  happy  years,  she  had  all  unconsciously 
been  borne ;  and  now  she  was  to  prove  to  the  world 
whether  she  was  a  queen  in  name  only  or  also  in 
deed  and  truth.  The  honour  of  queen  she  had  en- 
joyed; the  higher  honour  of  the  heroine  she  had 
yet  to  achieve.  The  appeal  of  Mordecai  flashed  a 
light  upon  her  destiny.  In  a  moment  she  saw  the 
drift  of  the  past,  the  meaning  of  the  present,  the 
vastness  of  the  opportunity;  and  she  swiftly  made 
up  her  mind.  "I  will  go,"  she  said.  "Let  all  the 
Jews  fast  for  me;  and,  though  it  is  against  the  law, 
I  will  appear  before  the  king;  and  if  I  perish,  I 
perish." 

How  different  life  might  have  been,  if  only,  in 
its  critical  moments,  we  had  had  some  true  friend 


FOR   SUCH   A  TIME   AS  THIS  55 

to  whisper  into  our  ears,  "Who  knows  whether 
thou  art  not  come  to  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time  as 
this  ?  "  or,  failing  this,  if  we  could  have  spoken  the 
words  to  our  own  hearts.  There  are  some  of  us 
whose  earlier  years  have  been  an  uninterrupted 
accumulation  of  happy  and  useful  experience.  The 
years  have  been  gliding  smoothly  along.  Little 
by  little  we  have  been  adding  to  our  resources — of 
knowledge  or  money,  accomplishment  or  influence. 
We  are  happy  in  the  consciousness  of  power,  and, 
for  long,  nothing  occurs  to  open  our  eyes  to  its 
obligations.  And  then  one  day  we  are  brought  face 
to  face  with  a  crisis.  A  worthy  cause  needs  us,  and 
we  know  we  can  help  it.  If  we  refuse,  the  cause 
may  not  indeed  be  lost,  but  it  will  certainly  suffer — 
at  least  to  the  extent  to  which  we  could  have  helped 
it.  We  know  this,  but  we  are  afraid.  We  fear  the 
frown  of  the  king  or  the  people,  we  fear  to  imperil 
our  comfort  or  happiness,  and  we  will  not  take  the 
risk.  We  love,  like  Esther,  the  seat  of  power;  and 
we  are  too  foolish  to  see  that  power  is  useless  until 
it  is  used,  too  cowardly  to  take  our  life  in  our  hands 
and  face  the  king.  But,  oh  !  the  thrill  of  satisfac- 
tion when  the  call  finds  us  willing,  as  well  as  ready ; 
when  in  a  moment  the  whole  meaning  of  our  past 
rushes  upon  us,  and  with  high  hearts  we  go  on  to 
meet  the  crisis  for  which  through  the  patient  years 
Providence  has  been  preparing  us. 

"Thou  art  come  to  the  kingdom  for  such  a  time 


56        THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

as  this."  It  is  to  those  who  are  kings  among  men — 
those  who  are  head  and  shoulders  above  the  people, 
those  whose  gifts  or  resources  make  them  con- 
spicuous among  their  fellows — that  this  reminder 
comes  especially  home.  It  may  be,  for  example, 
that  a  great  cause  is  in  danger.  Its  advocates  and 
its  opponents  are  pretty  evenly  balanced.  But  there 
is  one  strong  man,  who,  if  he  would  speak,  could 
turn  the  fortunes  of  the  day;  for  men  believe  in  his 
sincerity  and  disinterestedness,  as  well  as  in  his 
knowledge  and  insight,  and  the  humbler  supporters 
of  the  cause  are  waiting,  in  hope,  to  hear  what  he 
will  say.  His  gifts,  his  influence,  his  experience, 
not  only  qualify  but  entitle  him  to  speak  a  great 
word.  But  he  sits  in  silence,  or  makes  a  speech  of 
unworthy  compromise.  He  lets  the  golden  oppor- 
tunity pass;  and  it  may  be  that  a  great  injustice  is 
done,  or  the  cause  of  truth  and  progress  retarded 
for  years,  for  want  of  the  word  which  he  could  well 
have  spoken. 

There  are  doubtless  many  reasons  for  silence. 
Sometimes  it  is  due  to  real  and  all  but  unconquer- 
able diffidence,  sometimes  to  cynicism,  but  some- 
times also  assuredly  to  cowardice.  The  man  may 
suppose  that  plain,  uncompromising  speech  might 
alienate  his  friends,  imperil  his  influence,  or  injure 
his  reputation.  In  any  case,  the  day  on  which  a 
strong  and  influential  man  fails,  for  such  a  reason, 
to  lift  up  his  voice  for  the  truth,  is  one  of  the  tragic 


FOR  SUCH   A  TIME   AS  THIS  57 

days  of  his  life.  In  the  providence  of  God,  that  was 
the  crisis  for  which  he  had  come  to  his  kingdom, 
and  he  should  have  bravely  met  it. 

Or  perhaps  a  good  cause  is  languishing  for  lack 
of  money.  Hospitals  have  to  be  built,  homes  for 
consumptives,  refuges  for  the  unfortunate.  Educa- 
tional institutions  have  to  be  endowed  and  chairs 
founded  for  research  into  the  mysteries  above, 
around,  and  beneath  us.  The  Church  desires  to 
take  the  healing  words  of  Jesus  Christ  to  the  thou- 
sands of  people  who  stand  without  her  pale,  to  the 
remote  parts  of  the  land  where  the  people  are  un- 
visited  by  her  ministers,  and  to  the  distant  isles  of 
the  sea.  All  this  needs  money.  And  where  is  the 
money  to  come  from  ?  Who  shall  say  that  there  is 
not  a  hundred  times  more  than  enough  ?  Many 
wealthy  men  have  done  very  nobly,  as  numerous 
philanthropic,  educational,  and  religious  institutions 
have  good  reason  to  know.  But  why  should  any 
such  institution  languish  for  one  moment  in  a 
society  so  wealthy  as  ours?  There  are  men  who 
could  build  a  hospital,  or  found  a  chair,  or  support 
a  foreign  missionary  all  his  days,  without  having 
to  deprive  themselves  of  any  of  the  luxuries,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  necessities  of  their  existence.  Why 
then  are  these  things  not  done  on  a  far  more 
generous  and  extensive  scale?  Is  it  not  because 
wealth  does  not  always  rise  to  a  sense  of  its  obliga- 
tion ?      A    man   on    a   throne   must   show   himself 


58        THE   CITY    WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

kingly;  but  when  calls  come  from  such  needy  and 
noble  institutions,  the  men  who  have  the  money 
sometimes  forget  that  they  have  come  to  their  king- 
dom for  just  such  a  time  as  this. 

But  perhaps  there  is  no  sphere  which  affords  so 
strong  or  subtle  a  temptation  to  forget  the  obliga- 
tion of  high  privilege  as  that  of  education.  It  is  not 
common  to  find  a  man's  intellectual  resources  or  a 
woman's  accomplishments  in  art  or  music  accom- 
panied by  a  high  sense  of  responsibility.  It  has 
happened,  for  example,  that  after  a  brilliant  uni- 
versity course,  which  gave  every  assurance  of  a 
happy  and  influential  career  at  home,  the  call  has 
come  to  a  man  to  spend  his  gifts  upon  some  distant, 
needy  field  in  India  or  China  in  the  service  of  educa- 
tion or  religion.  The  natural  man  may  at  first 
resent  the  call.  Every  unconsecrated  instinct  rises 
up  in  regret,  and  perhaps  rebellion.  In  such  a 
mood,  the  words  of  Mordecai  come  like  a  voice  from 
heaven.  Has  not  the  cultured  man  come  to  his 
kingdom  for  just  such  a  time  as  this?  It  is  the 
barren  fields  and  the  forlorn  causes  that  need  the 
strongest  men.  The  real  kingdom  has  to  be 
achieved  through  service.  The  other  is  but  the 
semblance  of  power,  this  is  its  substance;  and  a 
day  of  undreamt-of  gladness,  as  well  as  usefulness, 
dawns  when  the  man  gratefully  welcomes  this  crisis 
as  one  of  God's  best  gifts  to  him.  Now  he  has  his 
chance  to  be  a  king  indeed. 


FOR   SUCH   A   TIME   AS  THIS  59 

But  we  must  not  put  away  this  warning  with  the 
thought  that  it  is  not  for  us.  We  are  not  indeed 
kings  or  queens.  We  have  no  kingdom  or  throne. 
We  have  no  commanding  gifts  of  influence  or 
money  or  culture.  No !  But,  after  all,  gifts 
are  relative.  There  are  great  kingdoms  and  little 
kingdoms,  and  the  one  are  as  real  as  the  other. 
I  have  not  come  into  another  man's  kingdom. 
I  have  only  come  into  my  own.  But  it  is  my 
own ;  and  for  my  use  of  it  and  for  my  conduct  in 
it,  I  am  altogether  responsible.  I  have  not  much 
influence,  or  money,  or  culture,  but  I  have  some  ; 
and  with  that  I  am  bound,  as  much  as  the  great 
leaders  of  men  are  bound,  to  face  without  flinching 
whatever  crisis  comes  to  me.  Above  all,  if  my  gifts 
are  few,  I  have  at  least  my  personality.  That  is 
mine,  inalienably  mine — a  kingdom  in  which  my 
authority  is  supreme  and  unchallengeable.  When 
duty  looks  at  me  with  her  stern  but  pleading  eyes, 
let  me  never  forget  that  I  am  come  to  my  kingdom 
for  such  a  time  as  this.  There  is  no  one  in  the 
universe  who  has  just  the  opportunity  which  I 
have,  no  one  else  whose  situation  is  just  the  same  as 
mine.  No  one  else  can  be  brave  for  me.  If  I  let 
this  opportunity  slip,  it  is  gone  for  ever.  My 
negligence  may  bring  disaster  or  defeat  upon  some 
worthy  cause.  My  cowardice  may  involve  my  own 
life  in  irreparable  ruin. 

Nor  must  we  let  ourselves  believe  that  our  lives 


60        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

move  among  situations  so  hopelessly  commonplace 
that  there  is  in  them  no  opportunity  for  the 
heroic.  Never  was  there  a  greater  mistake.  The 
crisis  is  sure  to  come,  though  it  may  come  in 
so  humble  a  guise  that  we  may  fail  to  recognize  it 
till  it  is  gone.  It  may  be  simply  the  recording  of  a 
vote  where  important  issues  are  at  stake,  it  may  be 
the  speaking  of  a  kind  word  to  some  heart  in  doubt 
or  sorrow,  it  may  be  the  rebuking  of  a  blasphemous 
or  filthy  story.  In  the  face  of  opportunities  like 
these,  whatever  gifts  of  influence  or  character  we 
have  must  be  bravely  used.  Who  knows  whether 
thou  art  not  come  to  thy  kingdom  for  such  a  time 
as  this? 

Often,  too,  we  shall  find  that  the  peril,  when  we 
face  it,  is  not  so  deadly  as  it  seemed.  "And  it  was 
so,  when  the  king  saw  Esther  the  queen  standing 
in  the  court,  that  she  obtained  favour  in  his  sight ; 
and  the  king  held  out  to  Esther  the  golden  sceptre 
that  was  in  his  hand."  Virtue  is  indeed  its  own  best 
reward,  but  it  is  also  not  seldom  crowned  with  the 
reward  of  success.  Even  if  we  fail  we  shall  win 
our  own  souls ;  but  as  a  rule,  we  shall  not  fail.  Like 
Esther,  we  may  save  both  ourselves  and  others.  It 
is  our  imagination  of  the  peril  that  unmans  us;  the 
resolution  to  face  it  brings  the  requisite  strength, 
and  often,  too,  the  victory.  We  quail  at  the 
thought  of  the  king  upon  his  throne;  but  lo !  when 
with  brave,  though  beating  hearts,  we  appear  before 
him,  he  holds  out  to  us  the  golden  sceptre. 


THE    PASSING    OF    OPPORTUNITY 


THE  PASSING   OF  OPPORTUNITY 

"  Me  ye  have  not  always  * 

Jesus  is  a  continual  surprise.  You  could  never 
guess,  if  you  did  not  know,  how  He  will  reply  to  a 
disputant,  or  what  He  will  do  in  a  dilemma.  He 
always  does  the  original  thing,  says  the  unexpected 
thing.  His  deeds  and  words  are  a  source  of  aston- 
ishment even  to  the  disciples  who  know  and  love 
Him  best.  Those  whom  they  rebuke,  He  wel- 
comes ;  and  on  those  with  whom  they  are  indignant, 
He  bestows  the  loftiest  and  most  deliberate  com- 
mendation. Verily  His  ways  are  not  as  their  ways, 
and  perhaps  still  less  as  our  ways. 

No  one  could  be  long  with  Jesus  without  learning 
that  He  loved  the  poor ;  and  it  is  hardly  surprising 
that  when  a  woman,  in  the  wealth  of  her  devotion, 
broke  a  box  of  very  precious  ointment  and  poured 
it  over  the  head  of  her  Lord,  the  disciples  were 
indignant  and  harsh.  They  counted  her  act  one  of 
foolish  extravagance  and  condemned  it  in  words 
which  we  might  almost  imagine  were  the  Master's 
own.  "What  is  the  good  of  such  waste?"  they 
say;  "for  this  ointment  might  have  been  sold  and 

63 


64        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

given  to  the  poor."  It  would  not  have  been  hard 
to  believe  that  these  were  words  of  Jesus'  own — 
words  of  mild  rebuke  to  the  eager  woman  who  had 
forgotten  how  dear  the  poor  were  to  Jesus.  But 
no !  The  surprise  is  here  as  everywhere.  What 
Jesus  said  was  very  different :  "  Leave  her  alone ; 
it  is  a  beautiful  work  that  she  has  wrought  upon  Me. 
For  ye  have  the  poor  with  you  all  the  time,  but  Me 
ye  have  not  always."  Jesus  has  not  forgotten  His 
love  for  the  poor,  nor  has  He  forgotten  how  much 
might  be  done  with  the  money ;  but  the  poor  might 
be  helped  at  any  time,  while  if  He  was  to  be  thus 
honoured,  it  must  be  now  or  never.  There  is  a  time 
to  sell  the  precious  ointment,  and  a  time  to  break 
the  box  and  pour  its  treasure  over  the  head  of  Jesus ; 
and  happy  is  he  who  knows  these  times  and 
seasons. 

Jesus  is  here  enunciating,  in  His  own  inimitable 
way,  the  great  truth  of  the  relative  value  of  oppor- 
tunities. The  good  is  not  the  best;  and  His  words 
suggest  that  the  man  who  would  do  homage  to  the 
best  must  be  daring  enough  to  rise  above  the 
temptation  to  be  merely  good,  or  to  govern  his  life 
by  the  standards  even  of  a  noble  convention.  Jesus 
came  not  to  be  ministered  unto,  yet  He  was  glad, 
very  glad,  when  such  spontaneous  ministrations 
came.  Though  meek  and  lowly,  He  unhesitatingly 
accepted  the  costliest  service,  and  counted  Himself 
worthy  of  the  noblest  that  men  could  offer.     He 


THE   PASSING  OF  OPPORTUNITY        65 

loved  the  poor,  but  to  Him  life  had  other  than 
economic  aspects;  and  amid  the  cruelty,  suspicion 
and  misunderstanding  that  clouded  the  last  of  His 
earthly  days,  He  welcomed  with  peculiar  joy  the 
daring  generosity  of  this  woman's  heart. 

The  great  words  in  which  Jesus  justified  the 
breaking  of  the  alabaster  box  in  His  own  behalf, 
embody  a  principle  which  should  run  through  all 
wise  life.  The  words  were  these:  "The  poor  ye 
have  always  with  you ;  but  Me  ye  have  not  always." 
The  principle  is  this — that  opportunities  differ  in 
value  and  importance,  and  that  wisdom  consists  in 
reading  their  value  aright  and  in  selecting  the  one 
which  will  not  be  always  with  us.  Certain  things 
may  be  done  at  any  time ;  certain  other  things  must 
be  done  now  or  never.  Certain  privileges  may  be 
enjoyed  at  any  time;  certain  others,  now  or  never. 
Every  life  is  confronted  at  many  points  with  this 
strange  contrast — between  the  ordinary  opportuni- 
ties which  come  with  every  day,  and  some  great 
opportunity  which,  if  not  grasped  at  once,  may 
vanish  for  ever.  The  poor  and  Jesus  !  There  is 
the  living  contrast  which  is  symbolical  of  so  much 
in  our  life.  The  presence  of  the  poor  we  can  depend 
on ;  the  pathetic  commonplace  is  ever  about  us;  but 
unique  opportunities  are  not  always  with  us.  They 
are  rare.  Sometimes  they  come  to  us  but  once ;  and 
though  we  should  wait  for  a  century,  they  would 
never  come  again. 

F 


66        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

It  is  very  like  Jesus  that  the  opportunity  which 
He  here  commends  the  woman  for  using  is  an 
opportunity  for  doing  good.  In  breaking  the  box 
of  ointment  she  was  taking  this  unique  opportunity 
of  honouring  Jesus.  But  the  principle  is  as  true 
when  its  application  is  widened  to  opportunities  for 
receiving  good.  For  here,  too,  some  opportunities 
are  relatively  commonplace;  others,  like  Jesus,  are 
unique.  Some  are  always  with  us,  others  come  but 
once  or  seldom. 

Every  life,  however  humble,  has  unique  oppor- 
tunities of  its  own.  The  Sabbath  day — do  we  use 
it  for  the  better  things  ?  The  holiday — do  we  let  it 
bring  us  nearer  the  God  of  the  mountains  and  the 
sea  ?  The  rare  opportunities  of  travel — what  do  we 
do  with  them  ?  Are  we  of  those  who  would  rather 
read  a  newspaper  than  watch  a  brilliant  sunset  ? 
Common  days  and  common  sights  will  come  again  ; 
but  to  him  that  hath  ears  to  hear,  every  unique 
opportunity  rings  out  the  reminder,  "The  poor  ye 
have  always  with  you,  but  Me  ye  have  not  always." 
And  if  we  cannot  distinguish  between  opportunities, 
we  have  yet  much  to  learn  from  Jesus. 

In  its  primary  reference,  this  word  of  Jesus  re- 
ferred not  to  getting,  but  to  doing  good ;  and  here, 
as  there,  opportunities  differ.  It  is  not  always  easy, 
of  course,  to  judge  the  real  significance  of  an  oppor- 
tunity. A  whole  career  has  often  been  determined 
by  a  choice  which  at  the  moment  seemed  trivial. 


THE   PASSING  OF  OPPORTUNITY        67 

At  the  same  time,  there  are  opportunities  whose 
greatness  no  sane  man  would  dispute;  and  it  would 
be  well  for  those  whose  life  is  before  them  to  learn 
to  understand  and  value  how  much  is  theirs  and 
how  soon  and  how  surely  it  will  pass  away.  It  is 
too  late  to  break  the  alabaster  box  when  Jesus  is  in 
His  grave. 

Perhaps  there  are  few  who  realize  the  transiency 
of  the  home.  As  each  day  runs  its  commonplace 
round,  the  unspeakable  privilege  of  living  in  the 
most  intimate  communion  with  those  whom  of  all 
the  world  we  love  the  most,  is  apt  to  be  forgotten. 
There  may  indeed  be  kindliness  enough ;  but  how 
much  more  tender  and  affectionate  it  might  be  if 
we  remembered  how  frail  are  the  bonds  that  unite 
us,  and  how  soon  some  of  them  will  be  broken. 

It  is  proper  and  necessary  that  friendships  be 
formed  outside  of  the  family  circle;  for  the  home 
does  not  exhaust  the  great  world,  and  only  in  the 
duties  and  friendships  of  the  larger  life  beyond  it 
can  our  nature  be  even  approximately  completed. 
Nor  can  we  forget  that  sometimes  friends  may  be 
even 

"more  than  my  brothers  are  to  me." 

Still,  the  home  includes  the  most  intimate  and 
sacred  of  all  relationships ;  and  there  is  something 
almost  awe-inspiring  in  the  swiftness  with  which 
they  can  be  sundered.     In  a  year  or  two,  a  month 

or    two,    sometimes, — indeed,    in    a    moment, its 

F  a 


68        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

seeming  permanence  dissolves,  and  the  happy  circle 
becomes  but  a  memory — a  vision  seen  through 
blinding  tears.  A  man  may  find  friends — though 
perhaps  not  many — anywhere  and  at  any  time;  but 
the  dear  faces  of  the  home  are  not  with  us  always. 
The  claims  of  business,  profession  or  pleasure,  may 
take  the  son  to  a  far  country;  and  when  he  comes 
back,  his  mother  is  in  her  grave.  And  then  how 
he  wishes  he  had  worked  a  good  work  upon  her 
when  she  was  with  him  !  Yes  !  now  he  would 
break  his  costliest  alabaster  box  a  thousand  times 
over  for  her  gentle  sake.  But  she  is  sleeping  her 
dreamless  sleep,  and  the  dear  lips  are  cold. 

"Me  ye  have  not  always  with  you."  Oh,  why 
do  we  take  so  long  to  learn  a  lesson  so  simple  ? 
Sooner  or  later,  every  home  crumbles  away ;  but  as 
we  gather  round  the  table  we  never  think  of  this. 
It  is  well  that  such  a  thought  should  not  haunt  us 
for  ever,  but  surely  it  should  visit  us  sometimes. 
The  brother  is  rough  to  the  sister,  the  son  is  rude 
to  the  father,  the  husband  is  a  little  unmindful  of 
the  wife;  and  all  the  time  they  love  each  other. 
"  What  fools  these  mortals  be  !  "  Why  should  they 
forget  that  they  have  not  each  other  for  ever,  or 
that  life  is  too  short  for  strife  ?  Marriage  or  busi- 
ness will  separate  them  soon  enough,  or  death  will 
come  with  its  more  awful  separation.  And  then 
those  who  are  left  will  yearn,  in  bitter  sincerity,  for 
"the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand  and  the  sound  of  a 


THE   PASSING   OF  OPPORTUNITY        69 

voice  that  is  still."  But  while  the  hand  that  will 
vanish  is  still  with  us,  shall  we  not  do  something 
to  lighten  the  burden  of  its  toil  ?  And  while  the 
voice  still  speaks  that  will  one  day  be  silent,  shall 
we  not  listen  to  it  with  an  almost  tremulous  sense 
of  the  privilege  that  is  ours  ?  Common  friends  we 
shall  find  again ;  but  the  well-beloved  of  our  homes 
we  shall  not  have  always  with  us.  While  we  have 
them,  then,  let  us  love  them  and  cherish  them  and 
work  a  good  work  upon  them,  before  the  night 
cometh  when  we  can  work  for  them  no  more. 


THE   VALLEY   OF   DEATH 


THE  VALLEY  OF  DEATH 

"  They  stood  upon  their  feet,  an  exceeding  great  army  " 

There  is  perhaps  no  passage  in  all  the  Bible  which, 
for  weird  imaginative  power,  surpasses  Ezekiel's 
Vision  of  Dry  Bones.  By  means  that  are  as  simple 
as  simple  can  be,  he  transports  us  into  a  veritable 
valley  of  death,  and  the  gloom  and  the  horror  of  it 
enter  our  souls.  We  shall  let  the  prophet  himself 
lead  us  into  the  valley,  and  tell  us  what  he  saw, 
and  how  he  felt,  and  what  the  vision  did  for  him. 
This  is  the  story  in  his  own  words,  with  something 
of  their  muffled  music : 

Jehovah  touched  me  with  His  mighty  hand, 
And  bore  me  in  the  spirit  to  a  valley, 
And  in  the  midst  thereof  He  set  me  down, 
And  it  was  full  of  bones ;  and  round  and  round 
Among  the  bones  He  led  me.     And,  behold ! 
Thickly  they  lay  upon  the  valley's  face, 
Exceeding  many  and  exceeding  dry. 
Then  thus  He  spake  to  me  :  "  O  child  of  man ! 
Can  these  bones  live?"    "O  Lord,"  I  said,  "Thou  knowest." 
"Lift  up  thy  voice,"  He  said,  "and  prophesy 
Upon  these  bones,  and  in  these  words  address  them : 
'Ye  dry  bones,  listen  to  Jehovah's  word.' 
Thus  saith  Jehovah  to  these  bones,  '  Behold  1 

73 


74        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

I  will  breathe  into  you  the  breath  of  life, 
Sinews  and  flesh  will  I  bring  up  on  you, 
And  I  will  cover  you  with  skin,  and  put 
The  breath  of  life  in  you  :  then  ye  shall  know 
That  I  am  God  the  Lord  Omnipotent.'" 
Straightway  I  prophesied  as  I  was  bidden, 
And,  as  I  prophesied,  behold  !  a  shaking  ! 
Each  several  bone  drew  near  unto  his  fellow. 
And,  as  I  gazed,  behold !  there  came  upon  them 
Sinews  and  flesh  and  skin  to  cover  them. 
But  still  within  them  was  no  breath  of  life. 
"Lift  up  thy  voice,"  He  said,  "and  prophesy. 
Speak  to  the  wind,  thou  child  of  man,  and  say, 
'  Thus  saith  the  Lord  Omnipotent :  O  wind ! 
Come  hither  from  all  quarters  of  the  heavens, 
And  breathe  upon  these  slain  that  they  may  live.'" 
So  then  I  prophesied  as  He  had  bade  me, 
And  into  them  there  came  the  breath  of  life ; 
As  living  men,  they  stood  upon  their  feet — 
A  mighty  host  and  great  exceedingly, 

In  an  ecstatic  mood,  the  prophet  is  borne  upon 
the  wings  of  his  sombre  imagination  to  a  valley 
filled  with  human  bones — weird,  gruesome,  chaotic; 
for  they  are  not  even  skeletons,  but  an  indis- 
criminate mass  of  bones.  No  prospect  could  have 
been  more  forlorn  or  unpromising.  There  they 
lie,  sad  emblem  of  a  hopeless,  lifeless  people — 
the   living   dead. 

Round  and  round  the  valley  the  prophet  is  led  by 
his  mysterious  guide,  the  only  living  man  in  the 
grim  silent  valley.  And  everywhere  are  bones — 
the  face  of  the  valley  is  thick  with  them,  so  many 
that  the  soil  beneath  them  does  not  peer  through  : 


THE   VALLEY   OF  DEATH  75 

bones  exceeding  many  and  exceeding  dry.  Dry — 
for  it  is  long,  long,  since  the  warm  sap  of  life  was 
about  them ;  and  they  are  so  shrivelled  and  wizened 
that  nothing  but  a  miracle  can  ever  bring  the  life 
about  them  again.  "Behold!"  says  the  prophet 
sadly,  casting  his  despondent  glance  upon  them, 
as  he  moves  about  the  valley.  "Behold  them — 
exceeding  many  and  exceeding  dry." 

The  awful  silence  is  broken  by  a  divine  voice  : 
is  it  the  voice  of  the  prophet's  own  questioning 
heart  ?  "  Man  !  can  these  bones  live  ?"  What 
shall  the  poor  prophet  say  ?  He  cannot  say  Yes, 
and  he  cannot  say  No.  He  cannot  say  Yes;  for 
the  true  prophet  is  sane.  He  does  not  deceive 
himself;  he  measures  the  factors  with  which  he 
has  to  deal,  and  he  will  not  make  the  mistake  of 
under-estimating  his  problem.  He  knows  that 
there  is  little  prospect  for  dry  bones.  But  neither 
can  he  say  No;  for  with  God  all  things  are 
possible.  Is  anything  too  hard  for  the  Lord? 
The  wizened  bones  may — yes,  by  the  omnipotent 
grace  of  God,  they  may — yet  become  men  of 
flesh  and  blood.  The  prophet  therefore  answers 
with  reverent  humility:  "O  Lord  Jehovah,  thou 
knowest." 

Then,  to  our  surprise,  instead  of  Jehovah  Him- 
self addressing  the  bones  and  rousing  them  to 
unity  and  life  by  His  word  of  thunder,  He  turns  to 
the  prophet,   and  bids   him  pronounce  the  magic 


76        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

word.  "Prophesy  thou  over  the  bones."  The 
divine  and  resuscitating  word  is  to  be  spoken  by 
God's  human  servant.  "Dry  Bones" — they  are 
thus  addressed  as  if  that  were  their  name — 
"listen":  among  those  dead  ones  there  are  still, 
it  would  seem,  slumbering  possibilities — "listen 
to  the  word  of  Jehovah,"  the  word,  that  is,  that 
falls  from  the  lips  of  His  prophet. 

Then  the  word  rings  out  across  the  valley  with 
weird  and  solemn  echoes:  "Thus  saith  the  Lord 
Jehovah  to  these  bones,  '  Behold  !  '  " — for  what  is 
about  to  happen  is  marvellous — " '  Behold  !  I  will 
put  breath  into  you,  and  ye  shall  live.'  "  Jehovah, 
who  breathed  into  the  nostrils  of  the  first  man  the 
breath  of  life,  is  able  and  ready  to  work  His  ancient 
wonder  upon  less  promising  subjects  and  on  a  more 
splendid  scale.  Breath  is  the  greatest  thing,  the 
necessary  thing,  to  a  living  man — mentioned  here 
first,  and  as  God's  own  gift;  till  they  get  their 
breath,  they  will  be  of  no  use.  But  it  is  imparted 
last.  First,  the  dry  and  wizened  bones  must  be 
clothed  with  flesh  and  sinews,  and  then,  when  they 
look  like  human  beings,  they  will  be  ready  for 
breath.  And  finally,  when  they  stand  upon  their 
feet,  an  exceeding  great  army,  the  breath  of  life  in 
their  nostrils  and  the  light  of  life  in  their  eyes, 
then  they  will  know  "that  I  am  Jehovah."  For 
those  hopeless  men,  of  whom  the  sapless  bones  are 
the  emblem,  do  not  yet  rightly  know  what  manner 


THE   VALLEY   OF  DEATH  77 

of  God  is  theirs,  and  how  by  His  mighty  power  He 
can  revive  them  again. 

So  the  prophet,  believing  in  God,  and  in  the 
resurrection  of  the  dead,  prophesied  as  he  was 
bidden,  astonished  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own 
voice  re-echoing  across  the  dismal  valley,  and 
awaiting  the  result  with  curious  expectancy.  And 
soon  it  came.  There  was  a  shaking.  The  mighty 
word  produces  a  movement  among  the  bones.  The 
prophet's  word  is  Jehovah's  word,  and  they  have 
to  listen.  Then  follows  one  of  the  weirdest  scenes 
in  literature.  The  bones  that  are  isolated  and 
scattered,  without  cohesion,  move  silently,  mysteri- 
ously, toward  each  other,  each  into  its  proper  place, 
bone  fitting  bone,  so  that  now  we  have  at  least  the 
semblance  of  men.  The  scattered  bones  have  at 
least  become  skeletons.  And  then,  with  the  same 
silence  and  the  same  mystery,as  the  prophet  looks, 
the  bones  begin  to  be  clothed  with  flesh  and  sinews 
and  skin,  and  the  skeletons  begin  at  least  to  look 
like  men.  But,  alas  !  they  are  still  as  dead  as  ever, 
for  "breath  in  them  was  none."  And,  lying  on 
their  backs  there,  speechless  and  blind  and  dead, 
they  are  almost  more  terrible  than  when  we  first 
saw  them  as  the  bones  that  bleached  the  plain. 
Step  by  step  they  have  advanced  from  being  an 
incoherent  mass  of  bones  to  assume  the  comely 
shape  of  men.  But  the  greatest  step  of  all  has  yet 
to  be  taken,  the  step  without  which  all  that  is  yet 


78        THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

done  amounts  to  nothing ;  and  that  requires  a 
special  effort  and  another  prophetic  appeal. 

So  again  "  He  said  to  me,  '  Prophesy  '  " ;  and  as 
it  is  breath  that  is  needed,  breath  must  be  sum- 
moned. To  the  Hebrew,  wind,  breath,  and  spirit 
were  the  same.  So  the  prophet,  who  had  spoken 
with  power  to  the  bones,  now  speaks  to  the  wind — 
the  wind  which  must  obey  its  Lord,  the  wind  which 
blows  throughout  His  universe — and  summons  it 
to  come  and  blow  upon  these  dead,  these  slain,  that 
they  may  live.  Again  therefore,  in  faith,  the  pro- 
phet prophesies  as  he  is  bid,  and  the  wind  obeys 
as  the  bones  had  done.  The  spirit  came.  Its  re- 
freshing breezes  blew  across  the  lifeless  valley,  and 
each  dead  man  got  his  share  of  it ;  and,  as  they  felt 
the  pulse  of  the  new  life  run  through  them,  they 
rose  from  the  ground  on  which  they  had  lain  pros- 
trate, and  stood  upon  their  feet,  silent  and  orderly, 
"an  army  great  exceedingly,  exceedingly."  And 
this  host  that  has  risen  from  the  dead  is  almost  as 
terrible  as  was  the  grim  valley  with  its  multitude  of 
bones — terrible  now,  not  with  death,  but  with  life 
and  power.  Standing  now  upon  their  feet,  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  in  marching  order,  these  men  are  ready 
to  march  to  their  own  dear  land  in  the  west,  and 
to  deal  mighty  blows  in  the  battles  of  the  Lord. 

We  are  not  left  to  guess  the  meaning  of  the 
vision,  though  that  would  be  simple  enough  :  the 
prophet  has  himself  explained  it  for  us.    The  bones 


THE   VALLEY   OF  DEATH  79 

are  the  nation,  "the  whole  house  of  Israel";  it  is 
the  living  men  who  are  dead.  Their  life  is  bound 
up  inseparably  with  the  life  of  the  nation.  When 
she  lives,  they  live  in  her;  and  when  she  dies,  they 
are  as  good  as  dead.  The  exile  had  extinguished 
the  national  life,  and  the  exiles,  counting  them- 
selves as  men  already  dead  and  in  their  graves, 
deplore  their  fate  in  these  words:  "Our  bones  are 
dried,  our  hope  is  lost,  we  are  undone."  But  when 
the  prophet  proclaims,  in  faith  and  courage,  his 
resuscitating  word,  the  hopeless  become  hopeful, 
and  the  dead  arise.  "I  have  said  it,  and  I  will  do  it, 
saith  Jehovah." 

Much  as  this  vision  suggests  to  any  man  who  has 
the  eyes  to  see  it,  it  suggests  most  of  all  to  the 
preacher,  who  is  the  modern  representative  of  the 
prophet;  for  him  it  is  full  of  delicate  hints  as  to 
the  source  of  his  power,  the  origin  of  his  message, 
the  indispensableness  of  his  service  to  the  com- 
munity. 

For  one  thing,  the  preacher  needs  imagination. 
It  is  his  to  utter  the  thing  that  he  has  seen : 
he  cannot  utter  it  well,  strictly  speaking  he  cannot 
utter  it  at  all,  until  he  has  seen  it.  He  cannot  show 
what  he  has  not  seen.  Ezekiel's  description  of  the 
valley  of  death  lays  its  weird  spell  upon  our  hearts, 
because  he  had  looked  upon  the  valley  with  his 
own  eyes.  He  had  stood  within  it,  sorrowful  and 
terrified;  he  had  heard  the  shaking,  he  had  watched 


80        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

with  awe  the  creeping  of  the  bones  together,  and 
their  marvellous  investiture  with  flesh  and  sinew  : 
his  heart  had  bounded  as  he  saw  the  army  silently 
rise  to  its  feet.  He  makes  us  feel  it  all,  because  he 
felt  it ;  he  describes  the  valley  well,  because  he  had 
been  there.  So  the  preacher  must  bring  to  the  text 
he  expounds  or  the  scene  he  describes  not  only 
mind,  but  imagination.  He  must  learn  to  use  his 
eyes.  He  cannot  guide  another  into  the  valley 
which  he  has  not  seen  himself. 

Mark  also  how  the  preacher's  message  comes  to 
him  by  brooding  over  the  experience  of  his  people. 
The  vision  which  Ezekiel  saw  in  the  spirit  was 
borne  in  upon  him  as  he  reflected  upon  the  hopeless 
words  of  his  broken-hearted  people.  "Behold," 
they  say,  "our  bones  are  dried,  our  hope  is  lost,  we 
are  undone."  These  words  of  theirs  ring  in  his 
ears,  they  pierce  him  to  the  heart,  they  haunt  his 
mind,  they  sink  deep  into  his  imagination.  He 
turns  them  "round  about  and  round  about"  till  at 
last,  when  the  ecstatic  mood  comes  over  him,  he  is 
ushered  by  them  into  a  silent  valley  full  of  the 
bones  of  dead  men.  The  true  preacher,  like  the 
prophet,  is  one  who  moves  among  the  people,  and 
knows  what  they  are  saying  :  one  whose  ears  are 
sensitive  to  every  murmur  of  the  religious  and  in- 
tellectual life  of  the  time,  of  the  social  and  political 
life,  the  individual  and  national  life,  and  who  can 
relate  his  ministry  to  that. 


THE   VALLEY   OF  DEATH  81 

The  preacher,  further,  must  be  a  man  both  of 
sanity  and  of  faith.  Of  sanity  :  for,  when  he  looks 
at  the  dead  men  before  him,  whom  it  is  his  duty 
and  his  privilege  to  rouse  into  life,  he  will  recognize 
that  the  task  is  a  terrible  one, — he  will  not  deceive 
h'mself  about  that.  A  young  man  may  be  tempted 
to  suppose  that,  before  the'enthusiasm  and  eloquence 
of  his  sermons,  the  strongholds  of  sin  and  indiffer- 
ence will  fall,  as  the  walls  of  Jericho  fell  at  the 
blast  of  Joshua's  trumpets.  But  the  experienced 
preacher  knows  very  well  that  these  strongholds  are 
not  so  easily  overthrown.  He  knows  that  the  best 
he  may  do  may  elicit  but  little  or  no  response. 
When  he  asks  himself  if  these  dead  men  to  whom 
he  minivers  can  live,  he  will  not  say  that  it  is 
impossible,  but  he  knows  that  it  will  be  infinitely 
hard.  No  power  but  that  of  God  Himself  can  effect 
a  resurrection  from  the  dead. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  his  duty  to  believe 
in,  and,  believing  in,  to  work  for,  this  national 
resurrection.  The  men  before  him  may  be  dead, 
but  they  are  men  :  they  have  in  them  the  capacity 
to  be  an  exceeding  great  army.  If  he  be  a  true 
prophet  of  God,  with  any  vision  in  his  soul,  and 
any  love  for  men,  he  will  hope  and  believe  all 
things  of  them.  It  doth  not  yet  appear  what  they 
shall  be.  With  the  eyes  of  faith  he  will  see,  as  he 
preaches,  the  grim  silent  valley  stir  with  life.  He 
will  preach  in  the  faith  that  the  dead  can  be  raised. 


82        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

He  will  hear  the  rush  of  life,  where  before  was  the 
silence  of  death.  He  will  see  the  dead  men  before 
him — if  not  all  of  them,  yet  some — stand  up  upon 
their  feet,  ready  to  take  their  place,  like  good 
soldiers  of  Jesus  Christ,  in  the  great  army  of  the 
Lord,  to  fight  the  eternal  battle  against  the  world, 
the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  He  must  preach  and  work 
with  this  faith  in  the  possibility  of  individual 
recovery,  of  national  resurrection.  Otherwise,  his 
calling  is  a  mockery,  and  his  appeals  are  vain. 
When  the  divine  voice  says  to  him,  "  Prophesy  over 
these  dry  bones,  and  say  unto  them,  '  Listen,'  "  he 
instantly  and  hopefully  obeys. 

The  prophet's  voice,  ringing  triumphantly 
through  the  valley  of  the  dead,  reminds  us  of  the 
power  of  the  preacher  in  the  national  life.  The  dead 
men  can  indeed  live  again  :  but,  under  God,  the 
transformation  is  effected  by  the  prophet.  The 
voice  which  calls  those  bones  together  and  lifts 
those  dead  men  to  their  feet  is  a  human  voice — it 
is  none  other  than  the  voice  of  the  preacher.  It  is 
he,  with  his  message,  who  puts  hope  into  the  hope- 
less and  life  into  the  dead.  How  often  the  words 
"breath"  and  "prophesy"  occur  in  this  passage! 
What  the  dead  men  lack,  as  they  lie  there  on  the 
plain  upon  their  backs,  looking  so  like  living  men 
— what  they  lack  is  breath,  that  is,  inspiration ;  and 
this  comes  to  them  through  the  word  of  the  prophet 
or  the  preacher.  He  may  have  to  speak,  like 
Ezekiel,  twice,  or  he  may  have  to  speak  a  hundred 


THE   VALLEY   OF  DEATH  83 

times;  but  it  is  when  he  prophesies  as  he  is  com- 
manded that  there  is  at  length  a  shaking  among 
the  bones.  It  is  then  that  they  stand  upon  their 
feet,  an  exceeding  great  army. 

It  would  be  almost  impossible  to  exaggerate  the 
importance  of  the  true  preacher  in  the  national  life. 
He  is  the  man  with  the  breath  of  another  life  within 
him,  with  the  light  of  another  life  in  his  eyes. 
Whoever  else  is  alive  in  this  valley  of  death,  he  at 
any  rate  must  be  alive.  He  must  possess  the  word 
of  power.  He  must  remind  the  people  of  the  things 
they  are  forgetting.  When  by  the  rivers  of  Baby- 
lon they  sit  down  disconsolate  and  weep,  he  must 
put  them  again  in  mind  of  Jerusalem.  When  they 
are  allowing  the  business  of  Babylon — the  pursuit 
of  wealth  or  pleasure  or  honour — to  dry  up  their 
affection  for  God  and  for  the  things  of  their  deeper 
life,  then  it  is  for  the  prophet  to  stand  forth,  and 
speak  his  trumpet  word  across  the  valley,  and 
recall  his  people,  his  Church,  or  his  nation,  to  the 
things  they  have  forsaken  or  forgotten. 

If  the  preacher  prophesies,  like  Ezekiel,  as  he  is 
commanded,  preaches  with  fervour  and  imagination 
and  affection  the  gospel  he  is  commissioned  to 
preach,  there  will  assuredly  be  a  shaking  among 
the  bones,  and  one  here  and  another  there  will  leap 
to  his  feet  to  fight  for  the  Lord.  More  than  upon 
any  one  else  does  the  revival  of  national  life  depend 
upon   the   preacher.     It   is   he,   under   God,    who 

speaks  the  word  that  raises  a  people  from  the  dead. 
o  a 


DEFENDERS    OF   THE   FAITH 


DEFENDERS   OF   THE   FAITH 

"He  followeth  not  with  us" 

A  strangely  pathetic  interest  attaches  So  a  great 
disciple  when  we  find  him  making  a  great  mistake. 
For  even  loyal  disciples  are  not  infallible.  Some- 
times they  seriously  misrepresent  the  mind  of  Jesus, 
and  have  to  be  brought  back  to  wisdom  by  the  stern 
way  of  rebuke.  Such  a  rebuke  was  once  adminis- 
tered to  John  the  beloved.  And  it  was  very  neces- 
sary, for  he  had  been  betrayed  by  his  zeal  into  a 
great  error.  He  had  misread  the  large  charity  of 
Jesus.  He  had  taken  it  upon  him  to  rebuke  one 
who  had  been  doing  beneficent  work  in  the  name  of 
Jesus;  and  Jesus  had  been  constrained  to  rebuke 
him  in  the  memorable  words,  "  Forbid  him  not." 

The  attitude  of  John  is  remarkable ;  more  remark- 
able still  is  the  reason  for  that  attitude.  "Master, 
we  saw  one  casting  out  devils  in  Thy  name;  and 
we  forbade  him,  because  he  followeth  not  with  us." 
One  would  have  supposed  that  John  might  well 
have  felt  sure  of  this  man,  for  he  had  given  two  in- 
dubitable proofs  of  being  on  the  side  of  Jesus.  He 
was  casting  out  devils — and  was  not  that  part  of  the 

87 


88        THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

very  work  which  Jesus  had  commissioned  His  dis- 
ciples to  do?  And  he  was  doing  this  in  Jesus' 
name,  proving  thereby  that  he  was  a  believer  in  the 
power  of  that  name  and  a  disciple  at  heart;  for,  as 
Jesus  said,  no  man  could  do  a  mighty  work  in  His 
name  and  thereafter  lightly  revile  Him.  But  John, 
with  sublime  indifference  to  these  conclusive  marks 
of  discipleship,  condemns  and  forbids  him  for  no 
better  reason  than  that  "he  followeth  not  with  us." 
We  would  say  it  was  amazing  if  we  did  not  know 
that  it  was  the  way  of  the  human  heart  always.  It 
is  indeed  the  commonplace  of  Church  history.  We 
forbade  him,  because  he  followeth  not  with  us. 

Apparently,  then,  it  is  possible  for  those  who  love 
Jesus  dearly  to  misunderstand  Him  seriously,  and 
to  hamper  the  work  of  others  who  are  serving  Him 
with  as  much  zeal  as  themselves  and  with  more 
intelligence;  for  we  cannot  help  feeling  that  the 
unknown  man  who  owes  his  place  in  history  to 
John's  foolish  rebuke,  had  an  instinctive  penetration 
into  the  essential  conditions  of  discipleship  far 
superior  to  John's  own.  For  John's  measure  of  dis- 
cipleship was,  at  any  rate  for  the  moment,  a  purely 
external  one — he  followeth  not  with  us — whereas 
this  man  felt  that  the  true  disciple  is  one  who  does 
the  work  of  the  Master,  and  that  whether  he  follows 
"with  us  "  or  not  is  a  matter  of  the  most  utter  indif- 
ference. Of  course  there  were  reasons  at  that  time 
why  John  should  have  so  completely,  though  mis- 


DEFENDERS   OF  THE   FAITH  89 

takenly,  identified  the  cause  of  his  Master  with  that 
of  His  little  disciple  band;  all  the  same,  there  is 
struck  here  the  first  note  of  that  well-intentioned 
arrogance  which  has  seldom  been  wanting  in  the 
history  of  the  Church.  It  has  too  often  seemed  to 
the  powers  that  be  that  because  some  one  "  followeth 
not  with  us,"  does  not  share  their  opinions  or 
endorse  their  methods,  he  is  necessarily  wrong,  and 
must  therefore  be  denounced,  censured,  or  excom- 
municated, as  the  temper  of  the  age  suggests; 
whereas  all  the  time  it  may  be  he  that  is  right  and 
they  that  are  wrong.  He  may  be,  by  his  actions  or 
words,  interpreting  the  spirit  of  his  Master  far  more 
profoundly  than  they;  and  they  may  need  the 
solemn  rebuke,  "Forbid  him  not." 

In  this  spirit  which  is  ever  ready  to  rebuke  uncon- 
ventional service,  there  is  something  not  altogether 
to  be  despised,  for  it  is  animated  by  jealousy  for  the 
honour  of  the  Lord.  Nevertheless,  it  is  one  of  the 
most  hateful  sins  of  which  a  disciple  of  Christ  can 
be  guilty.  For  in  insisting  upon  external  standards, 
it  displays  a  lack  of  insight  into  the  real  conditions 
of  service;  in  rebuking  a  man  who  is  doing  the 
work  of  Jesus  in  the  name  of  Jesus  it  displays  an 
utter  lack  of  charity  as  well  as  of  intelligence ;  and 
in  hampering  the  work  of  a  sincere,  devoted  and 
intelligent  servant,  it  is  injuring  the  work  of  Christ 
Himself,  and  retarding  the  progress  of  the  world. 

What  is  the  condition  of  discipleship  ?     Surely 


90        THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

it  is  not  following  "with  us."  For  who  are  we? 
Poor,  stupid,  loveless  mortals,  who  at  the  best 
"know  in  part  and  prophesy  in  part,"  and  at  the 
worst  are  but  caricatures  of  the  ideals  to  which  we 
aspire.  Surely  it  is  not  adhesion  to  us  but  to  Christ 
that  is  the  true  test  of  discipleship.  Does  the  man 
about  whose  loyalty  we  are  in  doubt,  and  whose 
work  we  are  thirsting,  like  John,  to  interrupt — does 
he  "follow  with  Christ"?  If  he  does,  that  ought 
to  settle  the  matter  for  us.  But  how  shall  we  know 
whether  he  follows  with  Christ?  In  the  last  resort 
we  cannot  know,  for  only  the  Lord  can  look  upon 
the  heart.  But  so  far  as  we  may  know  at  all,  we 
have  no  other  basis  for  judgment  than  that  indicated 
by  Jesus  Himself  when  He  said,  "By  their  fruits  ye 
shall  know  them."  What  a  man  does  is  the  best 
available  index  to  what  he  is ;  and  if  the  business  of 
his  life  is  casting  out  devils — and  the  modern  world 
is  almost  as  full  of  devils  as  the  ancient  ever  was — 
then  we  may  well  take  his  loyalty  for  granted.  Or 
if  we  must  suspect  it,  let  us  suspect  along  with  it 
our  own  intelligence;  let  us  suspect  our  interpreta- 
tion of  the  mind  and  heart  of  Christ.  For  if  Christ 
was  misunderstood  and  misrepresented  even  by  the 
man  who  lay  upon  His  bosom,  it  will  be  no  great 
wonder  if  we  misunderstand  Him  too. 

It  is  unspeakably  pathetic  that  such  a  reason 
should  have  been  so  often  offered  throughout  the 
history  of  the  Church  for  thwarting  the  unconven- 


DEFENDERS   OF  THE   FAITH  91 

tional  service  of  some  fellow-disciple — "he  followeth 
not  with  us."  Is  he  any  the  worse  for  that?  For 
again,  let  us  ask,  who  are  we  ?  Necessarily  but  a 
fraction  of  the  great  Church  of  Christ,  and  no  more 
infallible  than  any  other  fraction.  For  it  puts  a  con- 
siderable strain  upon  our  credulity  to  suppose  that 
any  group  of  mortal  men  has  a  monopoly  of  divine 
truth.  Therefore  our  standards  of  judgment  are 
necessarily  limited,  and  may  even  be  false,  as 
John's  were.  The  truculent  and  peremptory  pro- 
hibition by  which  we  think  to  do  Christ  honour, 
may  be  answered  by  Him  with  a  rebuke.  And 
when  we  shut  out  of  our  fellowship  a  man  who  is 
doing  gracious  and  helpful  work  in  the  name  of 
Jesus,  the  loss  is  rather  ours  than  his.  It  is  he  and 
not  we  who  represents  the  true  Church ;  and  no 
excommunication  of  ours  can  really  deprive  him  of 
that  "cheerful  liberty  of  heart"  which  belongs  to 
the  brave  and  sincere.  But  he  is  vexed,  though 
scarcely  surprised,  to  find  that  so  many  who  have 
ranged  themselves  under  the  banner  of  Christ  have 
forgotten  that  where  the  spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there 
is  liberty. 

The  Church,  as  President  Rush  Rhees  once  said, 
has  often  shown  herself  strangely  "inhospitable  to 
unfamiliar  truth."  Too  often  has  her  motto  been, 
"We  forbade  him."  Christ  was  brought  to  His 
Cross  by  the  chief  priests,  the  scribes  and  the 
elders;  that  is,  by  the  officials  of  the  Church  of  His 


92        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

own  time.  His  truth  was  too  revolutionary  and 
unpalatable,  and  they  "forbade"  Him  by  nailing 
Him  to  a  tree.  That  was  the  Jewish  Church ;  here 
— in  the  story  we  are  considering — is  the  Christian 
Church  in  embryo,  forbidding  one  who  cast  out 
devils  in  Christ's  name.  It  was  the  Church  that 
compelled  Galileo  to  deny  what  to-day  every  school- 
boy knows  to  be  true;  and  more  than  once  within 
the  last  three  centuries  the  Church  has  deliberately 
condemned  an  attitude  which  the  advance  of  thought 
has  later  compelled  her  to  tolerate,  if  not  to  accept. 
There  is  a  bloody  trail  across  the  ages — trail  of  the 
innocent  blood  of  those  who  were  slain  by  the  self- 
constituted  defenders  of  the  faith.  The  persecutors 
were  by  no  means  always  bad  men.  They  were 
often  only  conventional  men,  of  scrupulous  but  un- 
enlightened conscientiousness,  who  could  not  appre- 
ciate a  nobler  and  more  daring  type  of  service  than 
their  own ;  and  their  weapons  were  the  faggot,  and 
the  thumbscrew,  and  the  rack,  and  the  boot,  and  a 
thousand  other  unimaginably  fiendish  things  forged 
in  the  furnaces  of  hell. 

The  weapons  of  persecution  have  changed,  but 
the  spirit  is  ever  the  same — the  spirit  which  in  other 
days  would  have  kindled  the  faggot,  but  which  dare 
not  do  so  to-day  because  of  the  brave  stand  for 
liberty  and  truth  made  by  the  men  whom  it  mur- 
dered. "  We  forbade  him ;  "  and  Jesus  said  :  "  For- 
bid him  not."     The  spirit  of  Jesus  is  slowly  work- 


DEFENDERS   OF  THE   FAITH  93 

ing,  and  there  are  signs  that  the  day  is  perhaps  not 
so  very  far  distant  when  men  who  are  casting  out 
devils  in  His  name  will  be  free  to  do  their  work 
serenely,  none  either  daring  or  desiring  to  make 
them  afraid.  Then  the  true  Church  union  will  be 
consummated;  for  then  men  will  be  more  eager  to 
welcome  than  to  forbid,  more  ready  to  accentuate 
the  glorious  hopes  they  share  in  common  than  the 
relatively  trivial  speculations  which  divide  them. 
They  will  care  more  for  the  person  of  Christ  than 
for  a  particular  view  of  His  person,  and  more  for 
truth  than  for  a  specific  formulation  of  it.  So  long 
as  we  refuse  to  welcome  other  disciples  of  Christ — 
be  they  men  or  churches — simply  because  they  "fol- 
low not  with  us,"  we  shall  have  to  remain  in  an 
isolation  that  is  anything  but  splendid — the  poorer 
for  the  lack  of  the  resources  and  stimulus  which 
they  might  bring  us.  When  we  recognize  the  rela- 
tive unimportance  of  the  things  which  separate  us, 
and  what  Reville  has  called  "the  inanity  of  all 
these  discussions  in  matters  which  exceed  the 
capacity  of  our  intelligence,"  then  will  be  seen  the 
folly  of  saying,  "We  forbade  him,  because  he  fol- 
loweth  not  with  us ;  "  and  such  a  whisper  will  not  be 
heard  in  all  the  land. 

The  devils  are  legion ;  and  all  who  are  striving 
to  cast  them  out  are  the  friends  of  Jesus.  Where- 
ever  there  is  a  man  doing  what  in  him  lies,  in  the 
spirit   of   Jesus,    to   check   political   corruption   or 


94        THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

municipal  incompetence,  gambling  or  drunkenness, 
prurient  literature  or  degrading  amusements,  false 
or  inadequate  conceptions  of  the  Bible  or  religion, 
disintegrating  views  of  private  duty  or  social  moral- 
ity, there  is  a  man — whether  his  methods  be  uncon- 
ventional or  not,  whether  he  "follows  with  us"  or 
not — who  deserves  a  royal  welcome  from  all  who 
count  themselves  the  friends  of  Jesus.  "Forbid 
him  not,"  says  Jesus.  We  may  indeed,  in  an  un- 
considered enthusiasm  for  the  cause  we  love,  defy 
this  solemn  word  of  Jesus;  and  if  we  please,  we 
may  rebuke  or  persecute  the  man  whose  chief  crime 
is  that  he  "followeth  not  with  us."  But  let  us  not 
forget  that  "inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto  him,  ye  did 
it  unto  Me." 


ONE   HAVING   AUTHORITY 


ONE   HAVING   AUTHORITY 

"  He  taught  them  as  one  having  authority  " 

Jesus  was  a  teacher,  and  His  teaching  astonished 
those  whom  He  taught.  In  the  literal  sense,  it  was 
extra-ordinary;  that  is,  it  did  not  find  its  place 
within  the  ordinary.  It  belonged  to  another  order 
altogether.  There  were  then,  as  there  are  to-day, 
two  ways  of  teaching — the  way  of  Jesus,  and  the 
way  of  the  scribes.  The  way  of  Jesus  astonished 
everybody;  the  way  of  the  scribes  astonished 
nobody,  except,  perhaps,  Jesus — for  must  He  not 
many  a  time  have  listened  with  sad,  if  not  angry, 
wonder  to  their  lifeless  exposition  of  the  living 
oracles  of  His  God? 

Between  Him  and  the  teachers  of  His  time  there 
was  a  great  gulf  fixed — in  method,  in  influence,  in 
everything.  Almost  the  only  thing  that,  as 
teachers,  they  had  in  common,  was  that  they  used 
the  same  text-book,  and  that  only  threw  into  the 
more  glaring  light  the  contrast  between  the  fresh- 
ness, the  freedom,  the  power,  the  originality,  of  the 
one,  and  the  literalism,  the  conventionality,  the 
barrenness,  of  the  other.     The  stupidest  person  in 

H  97 


98        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

the  synagogues  could  not  fail  to  see  the  difference. 
Jesus  spoke  as  one  having  authority;  they  spoke 
as  men  who  had  none.  His  words  carried  convic- 
tion ;  their  words  carried  none.  His  speech  smote 
the  heart  and  conscience;  theirs  got  no  farther  than 
the  head,  and  produced  little  effect  even  there.  You 
could  not  listen  to  Jesus  without  being  interested, 
arrested.  You  might  be  provoked,  but  you  could 
not  be  indifferent.  You  could  not  leave  the  syna- 
gogue the  same  man  as  you  entered ;  you  would  be 
another — worse,  if  not  better. 

There  is  an  infinite  pathos  in  this  simple  contrast 
between  the  teaching  of  Jesus  and  that  of  the 
scribes.  His  words  had  the  ring  of  authority,  and 
the  people  instinctively  felt  that  that  was  not  how 
their  scribes  spoke.  The  professional  teachers 
lacked  that  note  of  authority  without  which  all 
teaching  is  a  mockery,  not  to  say  a  crime.  For  is 
it  not  a  crime  to  attempt  to  command  the  heart  and 
conscience  of  another  by  the  presentation  of  a  truth 
which  does  not  command  and  inspire  our  own  ? 
With  Jesus,  teaching  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death  ; 
with  the  scribes  it  was  a  matter  of  profession.  They 
looked  upon  the  surface  of  the  Old  Testament, 
Christ  looked  into  its  heart.  And  is  it  any  wonder 
that  the  people  were  astonished?  As  some  one 
has  said,  Jesus  spoke  with  authority,  they  spoke 
by  authority.  They  quoted  their  rabbis;  Jesus 
quoted  nobody,  because  the  evidence  of  the  truth 


ONE   HAVING   AUTHORITY  99 

was  in   His  heart,  and  the  zeal  for  it  consumed 
Him. 

The  hungry  souls  know  very  well  whether  they 
are  being  fed  or  not.  Their  teachers  may  array 
themselves  in  professional  robes,  they  may  give 
themselves  professional  airs,  they  may  learnedly 
discuss  religious  difficulties,  and  show  themselves 
conversant  with  the  history  of  opinion,  but  to  the 
soul  that  is  starving  for  a  word  from  God  these 
things  are  nothing  but  a  cruel  delusion.  The  real 
question  is,  Can  the  teacher  speak  with  authority  ? 
Do  his  words  pierce  and  burn  ?  Do  they  find  me  ? 
The  scribes  were  those  whose  words  should  have 
been  able  to  do  that,  for  it  was  their  business  to 
meditate  on  God's  law  day  and  night.  Yet  the 
people  are  startled  when  they  hear  a  voice  speaking 
with  authority,  for  their  own  scribes,  they  felt,  had 
none.  The  surprise  of  the  audience  at  the  fresh  and 
authoritative  message  of  Jesus  is  a  painful  comment 
on  the  inefficiency  of  the  conventional  teaching,  and 
a  sad  reminder  of  the  dangers  of  professionalism. 
The  greatest  Teacher  does  not  belong  to  the  ranks 
of  the  professionals  at  all.  He  takes  His  lonely 
place  over  against  them,  and  has  to  wage  with  them 
a  ceaseless  warfare,  which  only  ends  when  they 
bring  Him  to  His  Cross — for  that  was  His  earthly 
reward  for  teaching  with  authority.  The  common 
people  heard  Him  gladly,  but  the  professional 
teachers  gnashed  their  teeth,  and  vowed  that  they 
H  2 


100        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

would  have  none  of  this  man  or  His  teaching.  They 
could  not  bear  one  who  swept  aside  their  traditions, 
ignored  their  appeals  to  the  learned  rabbis,  and 
supported  His  truth  on  nothing  but  His  imperious 
"I  say  unto  you." 

The  great  teacher  is  always  rare.  When  he 
comes,  we  recognize  him,  not  only  as  one  who 
speaks  with  authority,  but  as  one  who  is  not  as  the 
scribes;  that  is,  not  as  those  other  teachers  whose 
special  training  and  manifold  opportunities  should 
have  enabled  them  to  edify  and  astonish  the  people 
more  than  he.  Clearly,  there  is  more  than  learning 
and  professional  training  needed  to  make  a  man  a 
great  preacher  or  teacher.  What,  then,  is  the  secret 
of  authoritative  speech  ? 

The  thing  most  needful,  and  almost  the  one  thing 
needful,  is  that  the  speaker  should  believe  what  he 
is  saying.  This  seems  an  elementary  demand;  in 
reality  it  is  the  greatest  of  all  demands.  There  are 
a  hundred  men  who  can  speak,  for  one  who  really 
believes,  and  the  only  speech  which  strikes  home 
and  leaves  its  mark  upon  another  soul  is  the  speech 
of  profound  and  passionate  conviction.  Man  is 
more  than  mind,  and  belief  is  more  than  a  thing 
intellectual.  The  teacher  who  covets  earnestly  the 
power  of  speaking  with  authority  must  believe  his 
truth,  not  only  with  the  understanding,  but  with  the 
heart.  He  utters  it,  not  as  a  proposition  he  can 
prove,  but  as  a  truth  that  has  set  his  heart  on  fire. 


ONE   HAVING   AUTHORITY  101 

The  impression  he  makes  lies  deeper  than  his 
words ;  it  is  the  magnetism  of  the  man — the  inherent, 
transparent  power  of  his  message,  and  not  the  logic 
of  his  words — that  carries  conviction.  The  truth 
glows  in  his  face,  shines  from  his  eyes.  It  does  not 
so  much  belong  to  him  as  he  belongs  to  it.  It  is 
not  he  that  speaks,  but  a  spirit  that  is  speaking  in 
him.  He  is  not  his  own ;  he  is  urged  on  by  an  irre- 
sistible impulse  to  tell  the  thing  he  knows  and  lives 
by.  He  has  mastered  the  truth,  but  the  truth  has 
also  mastered  him.  He  is  the  ambassador  of  the 
highest,  and  that  is  why  he  is  lord,  and  why  he  can 
speak  as  one  having  authority. 

To  speak  as  one  having  authority,  you  must 
really  have  it,  otherwise  you  are  not  wonderful,  but 
ridiculous.  And  to  have  the  authority,  you  must 
qualify  yourself  by  the  severest  discipline  of  mind 
and  heart.  You  cannot  hope  to  speak  with  author- 
ity unless  you  meditate  day  and  night.  No  man 
has  the  right  to  commend  to  other  men  his  undi- 
gested thoughts.  But  besides  knowing  the  truth, 
we  must  feel  absolutely  sure  of  it.  We  must  be 
fully  persuaded  in  our  own  minds.  Half  convic- 
tions will  not  do.  We  cannot  effectively  transfer 
to  another  mind  a  truth  that  does  not  possess  and 
govern  our  own.  Nothing  but  soul  can  reach  soul. 
Our  belief  must  be  a  faith,  an  enthusiasm,  a  pas- 
sion, and  it  must  be  uttered  without  regard  to  conse- 
quences.    The  speaker  must  think  of  nothing  but 


102        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

his  truth,  and  of  the  souls  he  knows  his  truth  can 
bless.  If  he  thinks  of  what  he  himself  has  to  gain 
or  lose  by  proclaiming  it,  his  authority  vanishes,  as 
it  deserves  to  vanish,  for  it  is  the  single  eye  that 
God  loves.  Many  of  the  greatest  masters  of  authori- 
tative speech  perished  on  the  rack  or  among  the 
flames.  The  greatest  Master  of  all  was  lifted  upon 
a  cross.  Yet  they  were  persuaded  that  God  was  for 
them.  They  had  the  divine  consciousness  of  being 
His  ambassadors;  and  they  could  speak  their  brave 
and  lonely  word,  knowing  that  the  future  would 
justify  them. 

And  the  words  of  such  men,  though  they  be 
despised  and  rejected,  never  fail  to  astonish.  Pro- 
phets are  never  so  numerous  that  the  people  get 
accustomed  to  them.  Scribes  enough  there  always 
are,  but  there  is  only  one  Jesus.  And  His  true  dis- 
ciples are  known  by  the  possession  of  that  fearless 
and  original  spirit  that  was  in  Him.  "When  they 
beheld  the  boldness  of  Peter  and  John,"  we  read, 
"they  marvelled,  and  they  took  knowledge  of  them 
that  they  had  been  with  Jesus."  There  is  no  mis- 
taking the  men  who  have  been  with  Jesus,  and  who 
have  caught  His  note  of  authority.  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's ambassador  said  of  John  Knox's  preaching, 
"The  voice  of  him  stirred  me  more  than  five  hun- 
dred trumpets."  Such  a  man  may  be  welcomed, 
or  he  may  be  rejected,  but  he  cannot  be  mistaken. 
Anywhere    he   is   head   and   shoulders  above   the 


ONE   HAVING   AUTHORITY  103 

people.  He  believes  the  truth  with  his  soul,  he 
utters  it  with  tongue  of  fire,  and  he  would  die 
for  it. 

And  the  truth  which  he  believes  and  passionately 
utters  must  be  truth  by  which  a  man  can  live. 
It  is  one  thing  to  believe  that  two  and  two  make 
four;  it  is  another  thing  to  believe  that  Jesus  Christ 
rose  from  the  dead.  The  latter  belief  will  change 
my  world  for  me,  and  the  world  of  any  other  man 
whom  I  can  persuade  to  accept  it.  But  there  is 
much  so-called  religious  teaching  that  does  not  deal 
with  the  deepest  things.  It  may  tell  us  of  the 
flowers  and  trees  of  Palestine,  of  the  scenery  upon 
which  Christ  daily  looked  from  His  Galilean  home, 
of  the  manners  and  customs  of  those  to  whom  He 
ministered,  of  the  literary  structure  of  the  sacred 
books  which  He  read.  It  is  well  to  know  these 
things;  the  more  of  them  we  know  the  better.  But 
that  is  not  religious  teaching,  and  if  the  teacher  does 
no  more  than  that  for  us,  he  does  nothing.  It  is 
not  enough  to  tell  us  the  pattern  of  the  hem  of 
Christ's  garment.  He  must  touch  it,  and  he  must 
speak  to  us  with  the  glad  enthusiasm  of  one  who 
has  been  healed  by  the  touch.  He  must  wake  in 
jour  hearts  the  dreams,  the  imaginations,  the  visions, 
the  faiths,  which  throb  and  glow  in  the  hearts  of 
the  men  who  wrote  the  Bible.  Let  him,  by  all 
means,  do  all  he  can  to  bring  back  that  bygone 
world,  and  restore  to  us  its  ancient  life ;  but  let  him 


104      THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

not  forget  the  most  living  thing  of  all — the  souls 
of  the  men  whose  words  he  studies,  and  the  mighty 
messages  that  came  to  them  from  their  God. 

Nobody  will  speak  with  any  permanent  authority 
who  does  not  deal  with  the  highest  things;  his 
words  must  be  aimed  at  the  conscience  and  the 
heart.  It  was  not  by  remarks  on  Palestinian  topo- 
graphy or  archaeology  that  Paul  made  Felix  tremble ; 
it  was  by  burning  words  about  a  judgment  to  come. 
Every  public  address  of  Jesus,  His  sermon  on  the 
hill,  His  parables  in  the  synagogues,  is  a  direct 
appeal  to  the  moral  and  religious  nature.  There  is 
no  irrelevancy,  no  trifling,  in  the  epistles  of  Paul. 
There  all  is  deadly  earnest.  The  truth  which  will 
tell  is  truth  about  the  vital  things — truth  which  will 
reach  the  heart  of  the  hearer  because  it  rises  out  of 
the  depths  of  the  speaker's  deepest  experience. 
Every  man,  in  his  measure,  must  be  able  to  chal- 
lenge his  audience  with  an  "I  say  unto  you."  He 
must  appeal  to  them  with  a  truth  which  he  has 
tested,  and  which  he  knows  can  make  men  glad  and 
strong  and  free. 


THE  LORD   UPON   HIS  THRONE 


THE   LORD   UPON   HIS  THRONE 

"I  saw  the  Lord  sitting  upon  a  throne" 

Assuredly  one  of  the  greatest  scenes  in  the  Bible 
or  out  of  it  is  the  inaugural  vision  of  the  prophet 
Isaiah.  In  words  that  are  few  and  altogether 
simple,  it  leads  us  into  mysterious  presences,  and  he 
would  be  dull  indeed  whose  soul  caught  nothing 
of  the  solemn  grandeur  of  it  all.  Indeed,  so  grand 
is  it  that  we  are  tempted  to  put  it  away  from  us  as 
an  experience  altogether  unique — a  vision  which 
Isaiah,  the  son  of  Amoz,  saw,  but  not  such  as  we 
ourselves  might  see.  A  closer  study  of  it,  however, 
will  serve  to  disabuse  our  minds  of  this  idea;  for, 
though  the  form  of  the  vision  was  determined  by 
Isaiah's  experience,  and  the  account  of  it  is  stamped 
with  the  dignity  of  his  royal  soul,  in  all  that  is 
essential  that  vision  may  be  appropriated  by  any 
man  to-day,  who  brings  to  the  consideration  of  his 
life-work  the  same  self-knowledge,  sincerity,  and 
devotion. 

Isaiah  was  a  young  man — hardly  over  twenty- 
five,  if  indeed  as  old.     He  had  lived  through  half 

of  the  brilliant  reign  of  Uzziah,  when  both  Judah 

107 


108      THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

and  Israel  had  enjoyed  a  prosperity  greater  than 
either  had  seen  since  the  time  of  David.  But  eyes 
so  clear  as  his  must  have  seen  below  this  brilliant 
surface.  The  moral  corruption  of  Israel  had  already 
been  exposed — sternly  by  Amos,  and  with  a  more 
passionate  tenderness  by  Hosea.  Judah,  we  may 
be  sure,  was  not  much  better.  Isaiah  knew  that  his 
home  was  "among  a  people  of  unclean  lips."  He 
may  have  known  the  work  of  those  two  prophets; 
in  any  case  he  could  read  the  ominous  signs  of 
Judah  for  himself.  With  the  sincerity  of  youth,  he 
pondered  over  them ;  and,  with  the  eagerness  of 
youth,  he  resolved  to  dedicate  his  life  to  his  country 
and  his  God. 

The  inaugural  vision  shows  what  a  power  religion 
must  already  have  had  over  this  man.  It  is  told  in 
terms  of  the  temple  worship.  It  was  from  the 
temple  court  that  he  saw  the  vision ;  and  the  song  of 
the  seraphim  was  doubtless  suggested  to  him  by  the 
songs  he  had  frequently  heard  in  the  temple.  It 
was  no  accident  that  the  vision  of  Jehovah  came  to 
him  in  the  temple.  Often,  perhaps,  he  had  wist- 
fully looked  for  Him  there,  watching  as  they  that 
watch  for  the  morning.  Had  the  heart  of  this 
young  man  not  already  been  at  home  with  thoughts 
of  God,  we  may  be  sure  that  he  would  never  have 
seen  Him  upon  His  throne  "in  the  year  that 
king  Uzziah  died." 

The  vision  of  Isaiah  was  a  vision  of  God — of 


THE   LORD   UPON   HIS  THRONE        109 

God  upon  His  throne.  "In  the  year  of  the  death 
of  the  king  Uzziah,  I  saw  the  Lord  sitting  upon  a 
throne,  high  and  lifted  up  "  above  the  chances  and 
changes  of  earthly  things.  Earthly  kings  might 
pass  away,  their  thrones  might  totter  and  fall ;  but 
that  soul  must  be  steady  that,  through  all  the  con- 
fusions, sees  and  believes  in  the  heavenly  King, 
who  is  immortal,  and  the  heavenly  throne,  which 
no  storm  can  shake,  but  which  standeth  fast  for 
ever.  For  the  God  whom  Isaiah  saw  was  a  God  of 
indescribable  glory.  The  prophet,  though  he  is  a 
supreme  master  of  the  literary  art,  saw  things  which 
it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  utter.  He  describes 
for  us  the  seraphim  in  a  few  mysterious  but  sug- 
gestive words.  But  the  Lord  whom  he  saw  is  too 
great  for  description,  too  glorious  even  to  look 
upon.  The  eyes  of  the  prophet  are  cast  down  in 
humility.  He  will  not  lift  them  up  to  the  glorious 
face;  he  sees  nothing  of  Him  but  the  majestic 
sweep  of  His  radiant  garments.  And  the  great 
Lord  is  surrounded  by  beings  who  praise  and  serve 
Him — praise  Him  out  of  lips  that  are  not  unclean, 
and  serve  Him  not  only  in  the  temple  but  in  any 
part  of  the  universe  where  their  service  is  needed; 
for,  with  those  nimble  wings,  they  are  ready,  like 
Isaiah  after  his  consecration,  to  fly  wherever  their 
Lord  sends  them.  The  song  they  sing  is  a  song  of 
the  eternal  world.  One  choir  lifts  up  its  voice  with 
its 


110      THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

"Holy,  holy,  holy  is  Jehovah  of  hosts  ;" 
and  the  other  responds — 

"The  whole  earth  is  full  of  His  glory." 

We  pray  that  His  name  may  be  hallowed  and  that 
His  kingdom  may  come;  but  the  eyes  of  those  mys- 
terious servants  round  about  the  throne  see  beyond 
all  the  sins  and  confusions  of  history,  beyond  the 
wicked  kingdom  and  the  dying  king,  to  that  eternal 
world  where  His  name  is  already  hallowed  and  His 
kingdom  already  come. 

That,  then,  is  the  vision  which  steadied  Isaiah  on 
the  threshold  of  his  career,  and  sent  him  forth  with 
fearless  and  quiet  heart  to  face  the  obstinacy  and 
the  opposition  of  men — the  vision  of  the  Lord  upon 
His  throne,  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  praise 
and  service,  and  reigning  in  a  world  which  is  full  of 
His  glory. 

But  when  a  weak  and  sinful  man  looks  upon  so 
glorious  a  God,  his  first  impulse  is  to  start  back  in 
confusion,  or  to  throw  himself  upon  his  face. 
"Woe  is  me,  for  I  am  undone."  "Who  am  I  that 
I  should  go  ?  "  The  weakness,  and  above  all,  the 
sin  of  the  man,  prostrates  him. 

"Then  every  evil  word  I  had  spoken  once, 
And  every  evil  thought  I  had  thought  of  old, 
And  every  evil  deed  I  ever  did, 
Awoke  and  cried,  'This  quest  is  not  for  thee.'" 

Before  the  blazing  glory  man  can  only  hide  his 
face,  thankful  if  it  does  not  consume  him.     The  joy 


THE   LORD   UPON   HIS  THRONE        111 

of  service  is  preceded  by  a  holy  terror  in  all  pro- 
founder  souls,  who  know  their  own  sinfulness,  and 
who,  with  that  knowledge,  have  looked  upon  the 
holy  King,  whose  glory  fills  the  whole  earth.  It  is 
strange,  and  yet  it  is  not  strange,  that  the  great 
prophets  shrank  at  first  in  terror  from  their  task.  A 
too  great  readiness  to  plunge  into  the  awful  work 
is  a  sure  sign  of  a  shallow  soul — of  a  soul  that  has 
not  measured  its  own  weakness,  the  greatness  of  its 
task,  or  the  majesty  of  its  God. 

But  the  feeling  of  prostration,  though  the  first,  is 
not  the  last.  With  their  wings  the  shining  minis- 
ters of  God  were  ready  to  fly  to  any  soul  that  needed 
help;  and  who  more  needy  than  the  prostrate  pro- 
phet, who  has  it  in  him  to  do  great  things,  but  who 
is  overwhelmed  by  the  consciousness  of  his  own 
sin  ?  So  one  of  the  seraphim  flew,  and  with  a  glow- 
ing stone  from  off  the  altar  touched  the  impure  lips 
— those  lips  by  which  the  preacher  expresses  his 
heart,  and  which  must  needs  be  clean — and  said, 
"Thy  sin  is  passed  away."  In  other  words,  the 
prophet  feels  that  the  God  whose  glory  has  blinded 
and  prostrated  him,  is  also  the  Lord  of  hosts,  who  is 
prepared  to  equip  him ;  and  the  first  essential  in  his 
equipment  is  his  forgiveness.  When  he  is  forgiven, 
when  his  lips  are  pure — then,  and  not  till  then,  can 
he  go  forth  to  preach  with  power  and  confidence. 

It  is  after  he  is  forgiven  that  he  hears  the  call. 
"  He  touched  my  lips  and  then  I  heard  the  voice  of 


112      THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

the  Lord."  Man  must  be  consecrated  before  he  can 
hear  the  divine  voice.  It  is  the  pure  in  heart  who 
hear  God.  Now  that  he  is  a  purged  and  redeemed 
soul,  this  man,  with  his  splendid  powers  of  intellect, 
heart,  and  literary  gift,  is  ready  like  the  seraphim 
to  go  wherever  he  is  sent;  and  with  his  unstopped 
ears,  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  glorious  Lord  who  sat 
upon  His  throne  saying  in  solemn  and  majestic 
tones,  "Whom  shall  I  send,  and  who  will  go  for 
us  ?  "  It  is  like  the  cry  of  a  world  in  need  uttered 
by  lips  divine,  a  cry  which  rings  evermore  in  the 
ears  of  all  truly  consecrated  souls.  The  fellowship 
which  his  pure  spirit  now  enjoys  with  God  is  im- 
pelled to  express  itself  in  the  service  of  his  brethren 
— those  people  with  the  unclean  lips,  among  whom 
he  had  his  home.  Briefly,  reverently,  as  becomes 
the  servant  of  the  most  High,  he  made  answer  in 
two  Hebrew  words,  which  summed  up  the  absolute- 
ness of  his  consecration  :  "Behold  me,  send  me." 
Mark  that  he  is  not  specifically  called  of  God. 
He  calls  himself;  at  least  he  ofTers  himself.  There 
are  some  who  delude  themselves  with  the  hope  that 
Almighty  God  will  take  and  thrust  them  into  some 
field  of  service,  and  that  He  will  speak  in  their  ear 
some  audible  word  which  will  set  their  doubts  at 
rest.  But  is  that  His  way  of  dealing  with  men? 
He  did  not  deal  so  with  Isaiah.  He  did  not  say, 
"Isaiah,  come  hither;  I  summon  thee."  The  cry 
is  a  general  cry,  thrown  out,  as  it  were,  across  the 


THE   LORD   LTON   HIS  THRONE        113 

world — "Who  will  go?  "  and  it  is  for  the  man  who 
has  seen  the  vision  and  felt  the  impulse  to  service 
rise  in  his  heart,  to  say  for  himself,  "Behold  me, 
send  me."  The  world  is  very  needy.  It  is  crying 
with  a  thousand  voices.  In  the  homeland  and  in 
heathen  lands  across  the  sea,  all  down  the  centuries, 
all  through  our  little  lives,  the  divine  cry  is  ringing, 
"Who  will  go  for  us?  "  God  respects  us  too  much 
to  compel  us.  He  will  not  force  us  to  go.  But 
where  the  need  is  so  great,  and  the  cry  is  so  plain, 
let  no  man  wait  for  any  clearer  call ;  let  him  respond 
at  once  in  the  simple,  surrendering  words  of  this 
great  prophet,  "Behold  me,  send  me." 

One  who  has  seen  the  vision  of  God  upon  His 
throne,  and  who  has  spoken  these  words  of  ready 
service,  goes  forward  with  high  hopes  to  his  great 
task.  He  is  borne  out  to  the  stormy  sea  of  service 
upon  the  high  tides  of  enthusiasm.  If  he  be  a 
young  man,  he  expects,  as  a  rule,  that  the  vision  he 
has  to  declare  will  be  so  compelling  that  men  will 
feel  constrained  to  yield  themselves  up  to  the  power 
and  the  glory  of  it  as  he  himself  has  yielded.  But 
he  has  not  travelled  far  till  he  is  disillusioned.  In 
very  stern  words,  Isaiah  is  warned  in  his  vision,  at 
the  very  outset  of  his  ministry,  of  what  is  certain 
to  happen.  Some  hearts  will  of  course  be  won ;  the 
vision  and  the  word  will  compel  them  as  they  com- 
pelled him.  But  there  are  many  that  will  reject  the 
best  and  the  bravest  that  we  can  do.    It  is  no  easy 


114      THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

matter  to  convince  and  convert  a  people  of  unclean 
lips — a  people  who  are  enjoying,  as  Judah  then  did, 
and  as  we  are  doing  to-day,  the  dangerous  fruits  of 
a  long  material  prosperity.  The  prophet  saw  that 
calamity  would  have  to  come;  the  land  would  have 
to  be  left  a  desolation  before  its  proud  and  careless 
people  could  be  brought  to  their  senses.  Till  then, 
the  more  he  preached,  and  the  more  familiar  they 
grew  with  his  message,  the  blinder  would  their  eyes 
become,  the  "fatter  "  and  the  harder  their  hearts. 

But,  through  sorrow  and  disappointment,  the  true 
man  of  God,  like  this  great  prophet  of  old,  will 
continue  to  do  his  work  with  high  hopes.  His  eyes 
have  seen  the  King,  the  Lord  of  hosts,  and  that 
vision  he  will  carry  in  his  heart  till  his  earthly  work 
is  done.  The  consummation  may  be  far  away,  but 
he  knows  that  it  is  sure.  Above  all  the  disillusions 
of  experience,  and  the  complexities  of  history,  the 
Lord  sits  for  ever  upon  His  throne,  high  and  lifted 
up;  and  one  day  the  whole  earth  will  be  so  unmis- 
takably full  of  His  glory  that  all  flesh  shall  see  it 
together. 


PREDESTINED 


I  2 


PREDESTINED 

"Before  I  formed  thee  in  the  womb,  I  knew  thee" 

It  is  a  great  thing  for  a  man  to  believe  that  he 
is  where  God  means  him  to  be ;  but  it  is  a  greater 
thing  for  him  to  believe  that,  in  order  to  put  him 
where  he  is,  God  has  been  shaping  all  his  past,  and 
that  He  was  even  thinking  of  him  and  planning  for 
him  before  he  was  born.  Such  was  the  feeling  with 
which  Jeremiah  entered  upon  his  great  career,  and 
it  is  this  that  explains  his  life-long  fidelity  to  his 
mission,  continually  assailed  as  he  was  by  warrings 
without  and  fears  within.  It  was  not  only  the  sense 
that  God  was  with  him,  but  that,  even  before  his 
birth,  he  had  been  in  the  mind  of  God.  A  great 
work  had  to  be  done  in  the  world,  and  there  was  no 
one  to  do  it :  a  great  word  had  to  be  spoken,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  speak  it.  And  so  God  had,  as 
it  were,  to  create  a  special  man :  He  needed  a 
Jeremiah,  and  He  made  him.  For  his  father  He 
chose  a  priest.  He  set  him  in  a  family  in  which, 
from  his  birth,  he  would  be  in  touch  with  the  finer 
traditions  of  Israel.  He  gave  him  a  home  in  the 
country,   yet   near  enough   the  capital   to  become 

117 


118      THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

acquainted  with  its  complex  life.  He  led  him  gently 
along  his  early  days  and  brought  him  to  one  solemn 
moment  in  which,  despite  much  misgiving,  he  felt 
sure  that  he  himself  was  the  man  divinely  destined 
to  proclaim  the  truth  to  his  careless  countrymen. 

What  a  conviction  this  for  a  young  man  to  reach, 
that  he  is  the  man  called  by  destiny  to  the  sublimest 
task  to  which  any  human  being  can  be  called — the 
task  of  uplifting  the  moral  life  of  his  generation  ! 
And  what  a  moment  it  must  have  been,  when  this 
conviction  was  borne  in  upon  him  !  How  did  he 
reach  it?  Doubtless  there  was  something  mysteri- 
ous about  the  experience  in  which  the  conviction 
came  to  him.  He  saw  a  Hand,  and  the  Hand 
seemed  to  touch  his  mouth.  It  was  a  mighty 
Hand.  He  felt  its  power  upon  his  lips.  It  was  the 
Hand  of  his  God,  whose  form  he  does  not  describe 
any  more  than  does  Isaiah,  but  doubtless  to  him,  in 
the  moment,  it  was  very  real. 

We  must  remember,  however,  that  such  a  vision 
comes  only  to  the  man  who  is  worthy  of  it,  and,  in 
a  measure,  prepared  for  it.  Jeremiah,  like  Isaiah 
at  his  call,  was  a  young  man — he  cannot  have  been 
over  twenty-five,  if  as  much ;  but  so  thoughtful  and 
tender-hearted  a  man  must  have  often  brooded  over 
the  sins  and  the  follies  of  his  people.  To  such  a 
people  somebody  must  speak  for  God;  and  there 
gathers  within  him  half  unconsciously  the  feeling 
that  his  is  the  voice  that  must  be  lifted  up — that  he 


PREDESTINED  119 

is  the  man ;  till,  in  one  sublime  moment,  the  whole 
wonderful  meaning  of  his  career — his  birth,  his 
youth,  his  special  and  peculiar  experiences — is 
flashed  upon  him.  He  sees  that  God  had  been 
thinking  of  him,  caring  for  him,  preparing  for 
him,  before  he  was  born.  Clearly,  if  the  past  and 
present  have  any  meaning  at  all,  he  is  God's 
marked  man.     No  human  life  is  hidden  from  God. 

My  frame  was  not  hidden  from  Thee, 

When  I  was  made  in  secret, 

And  curiously  wrought  in  the  lowest  parts  of  the  earth. 

But  this  is  peculiarly  true  of  men  who  have  a 
mighty  work  to  do;  and  there  is  no  thought  which 
a  man  can  take  with  him  into  his  life-work  that  can 
steady  and  strengthen  him  like  that.  Paul  had  it 
too — he  felt  that  God  had  separated  him  from  his 
mother's  womb ;  and  though  he  never  speaks  of  it 
again,  any  more  than  does  Jeremiah,  it  must  have 
been  one  of  the  most  powerful  influences  in  his 
career. 

The  sense  that  our  past  has  been  deliberately 
shaped  by  divine  fingers,  that  God  has  not  only 
put  us  where  we  are,  but  made  us  what  we  are — 
securing  for  us  privileges  and  opportunities  of  birth 
and  education,  putting  us  through  special  experi- 
ences and  disciplines,  bringing  us  within  the  circle 
of  certain  friendships  and  affections,  not  only  watch- 
ing but  moulding  the  events  of  our  lives,  and 
bringing  us,  to  our  astonishment,  face  to  face  with 


120      THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

a  situation  in  which  we  are  compelled  to  acknow- 
ledge that  He  is  confronting  us  Himself :  that  is  the 
greatest  moment  of  our  lives,  when  all  this  comes 
home  to  us.  It  fills  us  with  awe;  we  are  sure  that 
we  are  in  a  mysterious  Presence,  and  that  the  grasp 
of  a  divine  Hand  is  upon  us.  It  is  indeed  a  great 
and  awful  moment;  for  then  it  is  possible  for  us 
to  make  the  great  refusal,  "I  will  not  go,  I  cannot 
speak;  for  I  am  but  a  child." 

Is  it  not  strange  that  it  is  just  when  Jeremiah 
is  most  completely  overwhelmed  by  the  feeling  that 
he  is  predestined  by  God  for  a  great  work,  that  he 
feels  most  acutely  his  own  incapacity  ?  His  past 
career  and  his  present  consciousness  unite  in  telling 
him  that  he  has  been  set  apart  from  common  men 
and  common  work  to  be  a  unique  man,  and  to  do 
a  special  work;  but  this  feeling,  instead  of  exalting 
him,  depresses  him.  He  has  not  the  steady  soul  of 
an  Isaiah,  whose  eyes  had  seen  the  King.  He  is 
too  conscious  of  his  own  weakness  and  of  the  power 
of  the  opposition  to  say,  "Here  am  I,  send  me." 
"O  Lord  Jehovah,"  he  says,  "I  do  not  know  how 
to  speak."  He  thinks  of  the  frowning  faces  that 
will  listen  to  his  unwelcome  message ;  thinks,  per- 
haps, of  the  cruel  voices  that  will  clamour  for  his 
blood.  He  thinks,  above  all,  of  his  own  youth  and 
inexperience.  How  shall  he  plead  for  God  before 
men  so  much  older  than  himself — masters  of  all  the 
arts  of  worldly  wisdom  ?     His  heart  sinks  as  he 


PREDESTINED  121 

looks  at  it  all,  as  he  thinks  of  exchanging  his  quiet 
present  for  a  future  full  of  menace,  disappointment 
and  defeat. 

It  is  often  the  greatest  who  hesitate.  To  shrink 
is  at  least  to  show  that  we  have  measured  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  task  and  the  slenderness  of  our  own 
resources.  But  the  man  who  has  heard  the  voice  must 
obey  it,  unless  he  is  prepared  to  see  his  future  filled 
with  desolation  and  remorse.  There  is  a  humility 
which  is  perhaps  even  more  disastrous  than  pride. 
The  proud  man  injures  himself;  the  man  who,  in 
mistaken  humility,  makes  the  great  refusal,  injures 
the  world  by  depriving  it  of  the  service  he  is  fitted 
to  render.  Think  for  a  moment  of  the  incompar- 
able loss  to  the  world  had  Jeremiah  finally  yielded 
to  the  voice  that  spoke  within  him.  His  sense  of 
weakness  was,  after  all,  a  high  qualification ;  it  gave 
him  sympathy  with  men,  and  it  threw  him  back 
upon  God.  In  some  important  directions  Jere- 
miah's contribution  to  the  religion  of  Israel  is  pro- 
founder  than  that  of  any  other  Hebrew,  and  there 
is  no  Old  Testament  character,  who  is  such  a  mar- 
vellous prototype  of  Jesus.  And  all  this  would 
have  been  lost  to  the  world,  had  he  listened  to  the 
voice  that  pled  so  plausibly  for  keeping  aloof  from 
the  public  life  of  his  time. 

Besides,  in  his  humility,  Jeremiah  greatly  under- 
estimated the  wonderful  powers  with  which  God 
had  equipped  him  for  his  task.     Sincerely  enough 


122      THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

he  said,  "I  cannot  speak."  But,  in  point  of  fact, 
there  was  no  man  in  all  Israel,  and  few  men  in  all 
history,  who  could  speak  like  Jeremiah.  He  is  one 
of  the  great  poets  of  the  world,  as  many  a  touching 
elegy  very  clearly  proves;  and,  even  as  a  public 
speaker,  he  must  have  been  a  very  striking  figure, 
and  produced  the  most  profound  impression. 

The  brave  resolution  to  help  his  age  which  rises 
in  Jeremiah's  heart  is  crippled  in  two  ways — by  his 
inexperience  and  by  his  fear.  He  is  afraid  as  he 
thinks  of  their  faces — those  hard,  unsympathetic, 
cruel  faces.  The  reassurance,  "Be  not  afraid," 
gives  us  a  glimpse  into  the  prophet's  timidity.  He, 
the  tenderest  of  Israel's  prophets,  with  a  heart  as 
simple  as  a  child's  and  as  tender  as  a  woman's,  will 
have  to  face  an  opposition  stern  and  unscrupulous, 
a  persecution  cunning  and  relentless.  Every  new 
audience  he  faces  would  be  another  appeal  to  his 
native  timidity ;  but  every  such  crisis  would  bring 
him  a  fresh  reassurance  of  the  divine  presence,  a 
clear  echo  of  the  voice  that  he  had  heard  on  the  day 
of  his  call,  "Be  not  afraid,  for  I  am  with  thee." 

The  whole  career  of  Jeremiah  is  a  proof  that  this 
divine  promise  had  been  kept.  In  his  own  strength 
he  could  never  have  faced  the  fearful  odds  that  were 
arrayed  against  him.  Look  at  him  as  he  calmly 
stands  before  a  howling  mob  that  demands  his 
execution.  At  such  a  moment  he  is,  indeed,  in  his 
own  words,  firm  as  a  brazen  wall  against  the  whole 


PREDESTINED  123 

land — kings  and  priests  and  people.  Why  is  he, 
the  timid  and  the  tender  prophet,  so  calm  amid 
these  cruel  shouts  ?  Is  it  not  because  his  God  is 
with  him,  as  He  promised  to  be?  With  Jeremiah, 
as  with  Paul,  power  was  made  perfect  in  weakness. 
Each  of  these  great  men  had  to  contend  with  serious 
natural  disadvantages :  their  intrepid  careers  are 
proof  abundant  that  the  power  which  they  displayed 
was  not  their  own,  but  that  their  work  was  done  in 
the  strength  of  Him  whom  they  served.  Of  them- 
selves they  were  weak ;  but  the  grace  of  Another 
was  sufficient  for  them,  and  the  power  of  Another 
rested  upon  them. 

Those  who  have  been  led  to  feel  in  some  solemn 
hour  that  the  hand  of  God  has  shaped  their  past 
and  that  the  voice  of  God  is  calling  them,  may  go 
forward  with  quiet  and  fearless  hearts  to  the  work 
that  is  theirs  to  do,  strong  in  the  assurance  that 
the  God  who  called  them  will  also  sustain  them. 
In  no  conflict  or  crisis  will  they  ever  be  alone,  but 
evermore  they  will  be  beset  behind  and  before  by 
the  most  high  God. 


SPEARS   AND    PRUNING-HOOKS 


SPEARS  AND   PRUNING-HOOKS 

"They  shall  beat  their  spears  into  pruning-hooks " 

Spears  and  pruning-hooks — what  have  they  to  do 
with  each  other  ?  The  one  suggests  cruelty ;  the 
other  peace.  The  one  calls  up  visions  of  bloody 
battlefields  strewn  with  the  corpses  of  men ;  the 
other,  of  hills  with  terraced  slopes  of  vines.  The 
soldier  and  the  vine-dresser,  the  vintage  of  the 
grape  and  the  awful  vintage  of  blood — do  these 
things  not  lie  at  opposite  poles  of  the  world  ? 
Perhaps;  and  yet  they  lie  very  close  to  each  other 
too.  The  spear  which  slays  the  man  is  not  so  very 
unlike  the  instrument  which  prunes  the  vine;  and 
it  shall  come  to  pass  in  the  latter  days,  says  a 
great  prophet,  that  the  one  shall  be  turned  into  the 
other. 

It  is  a  great  vision  this  that  the  prophet  sees — of 

a  world  transformed  by  religion  and  common  sense. 

The  nations  which  are  now  ready  to  fly  at  each 

other's  throats,  will  one  day,  he  sees,  be  willing 

to  take  their  cases  to  Zion  for  arbitration;  as  we 

should  say  to-day,  they  will  submit  them  to  Jesus, 

to  have  them  decided  by  the  principles  of  justice 

127 


128      THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

and  humanity,  which  are  identified  with  Him  more 
than  with  any  other  force  in  the  world.  And  then, 
so  reasonable  and  satisfactory  will  the  decision  be, 
that  they  will  fling  away  their  weapons  of  war,  for 
which  they  have  now  no  more  use,  and  men  will  be 
brothers  the  world  over. 

Yet,  that  is  not  exactly  what  the  prophet  sees. 
The  nations  do  not  fling  away  their  weapons,  nor 
do  they  destroy  them;  they  transform  them — by 
beating  them  into  pruning-hooks.  For  every 
weapon  of  war  there  will  be  a  use,  even  in  the 
era  of  peace.  The  swords  will  not  be  shivered, 
they  will  be  turned  into  ploughshares;  the 
spears  will  not  be  snapped,  they  will  be  fashioned 
into  pruning-hooks.  The  instruments  which  deso- 
lated the  world,  and  filled  it  with  blood  and 
horror,  are  not  to  disappear;  they  are  to  be 
turned  into  instruments  which  will  make  it  fair 
and  fruitful — a  very  house  of  God  and  gate  of 
heaven.  It  is  not  enough  that  men  learn  war  no 
more,  they  must  go  on  to  learn  the  higher  arts  of 
peace.  The  ideal  life  or  society  does  not  consist 
in  negations;  it  deals  with  its  material  in  a  con- 
structive and  transforming  spirit.  It  delights  to 
see  the  pruning-hook  in  the  spear,  and  it  hastens 
to  transform  the  one  into  the  other. 

"Their  spears  into  pruning-hooks."  Here  is  an 
immortal  rebuke  to  the  spirit  of  waste.  There  may 
indeed  be  some  things  which  it  would  be  well  to 


SPEARS   AND  PRUNING-HOOKS  129 

banish  from  the  face  of  the  earth ;  but  there  are  not 
many.  Most  things  are  capable  of  transformation, 
and  were  meant  in  the  new  era  to  be  transformed, 
not  destroyed.  The  danger  lies  not  so  much  in 
the  instrument  as  in  the  use  to  which  it  is  put.  The 
world  is  full  of  material  which  is  morally  neutral ; 
whether  we  forge  of  it  a  spear  or  a  pruning-hook 
will  depend  upon  the  kind  of  men  we  are.  If  we  are 
men  of  war  and  strife,  with  no  love  for  our  fellows 
in  our  hearts,  men  who  prefer  the  battlefield  to  the 
smiling  countryside,  then  we  shall  forge  of  it  a 
spear,  with  which  we  shall  do  cruel  and  deadly 
work  that  will  bring  us  the  hatred  and  the  curses 
of  the  men  whom  we  smite.  But  if  we  have  in  our 
hearts  the  desire  to  be  at  peace  with  all  men,  and 
to  learn  war  no  more,  then  we  shall  turn  the  raw 
material  of  life  into  instruments  of  blessing. 
Better  a  thousand  times  that  the  sword  and  the 
spear  had  never  been  fashioned  at  all :  better  that 
the  metal  which  went  to  the  making  of  them  had 
at  once  been  turned  into  ploughshares  and  pruning- 
hooks.  But  now  that  the  deadly  weapons  have 
been  forged,  they  are  not  to  be  destroyed,  but 
transformed. 

A  great  and  far-reaching  principle  this !  Nothing 
need  be  lost;  all  things  may  be  transformed.  The 
powers  and  energies  which  were  dedicated  to  the 
cause  of  evil,  if  only  they  be  touched  and  conse- 
crated by  a  new  sense  of  the  meaning  of  life,  will 


130        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

be  equally  mighty  when  thrown  upon  the  side  of 
God  and  good.  Paul,  the  tireless  persecutor  of  the 
Christians,  becomes  the  great  missionary  to  the 
Gentiles. 

Instruments  the  most  unpromising  can  be  re- 
deemed. The  thing  which  most  of  all  needs  to  be 
destroyed  is  the  blind  spirit  of  destruction,  and  one 
of  the  gifts  that  most  earnestly  needs  to  be  coveted 
is  that  of  seeing  the  possibilities  for  good  that  lie 
in  instruments  and  agencies  of  evil.  There  is  little, 
if  anything,  that  was  meant  to  be  "cast  as  rubbish 
to  the  void."  The  rubbish  has  but  to  be  reclaimed 
and  transformed,  and  it  will  find  its  place  in  the 
new  and  better  world. 

One  of  life's  greatest  tasks  is  just  to  turn  the 
spear  into  the  pruning-hook.  Everywhere,  round 
about  us  and  within  us,  are  forces  that  threaten  to 
destroy  us.  It  is  not  always  wise,  or  even  possible, 
for  us  to  destroy  them.  But  we  have  to  transform 
them,  and  compel  the  deadly  things  to  bless  us. 
The  passions  and  the  appetites  which  too  often 
plunge  life  into  confusion,  and  sometimes  into 
ruin,  cannot  be  exterminated;  in  some  form,  wilder 
or  more  subdued,  we  shall  carry  them  with  us  to 
our  graves.  They  cannot  be  destroyed,  for  by  them, 
in  a  measure,  the  world  continues.  But  as  we  love 
our  lives,  we  shall  have  to  take  very  good  care 
that  we  do  not  allow  them  to  destrov  us.  It  is  a 
sad  day  when  we  deliberately  beat  the  pruning-hook 


SPEARS  AND   PRUNING-HOOKS  131 

into  a  spear.  How  hateful  a  thing,  for  example, 
is  passion  !  but  how  beautiful  is  love  !  They  may 
seem  to  the  cynic  not  to  lie  far  apart;  but  like  the 
spear  and  the  pruning-hook,  they  belong  to  differ- 
ent worlds.  The  one  carries  waste  and  desolation 
in  its  train,  and  wraps  the  life  in  a  horror  of  great 
darkness;  the  other  floods  it  with  gladness  and 
peace. 

All  our  gifts  and  capacities  are  as  so  many 
weapons  which  may  be  deadly  or  beneficent  ac- 
cording as  we  let  them.  What  a  cruel  instrument 
the  spoken  or  the  written  word  has  often  been — 
sharper  than  any  two-edged  sword.  It  has  been 
used  to  stab  reputations,  and  it  has  torn  many  a 
sensitive  heart.  It  has  been  used  to  distort  the 
truth,  and  to  poison  the  imagination.  When  we 
think  of  all  the  gratuitous  sorrow  that  has  been 
caused  by  flippant  or  caustic  reviews,  by  cold 
and  cynical  estimates  of  men  and  things,  it  is 
hard  to  see  how  men  could  expect  to  further  the 
cause  of  truth  or  good-will  by  such  an  exercise 
of  their  powers.  It  is  easy  for  an  able  man  to 
coin  a  stinging  epigram  or  to  write  a  clever  para- 
graph which  will  leave  a  wound  upon  the  soul  of 
his  victim  that  will  not  be  healed  after  many  days. 
Yes,  it  is  easy;  but  in  a  world  where  there  is  so 
much  nobler  work  to  do,  is  it  worth  while  ?  If  the 
pen  that  was  charged  with  malice  and  satire  will 
learn  to  trace  words  that  will  help  and  encourage, 

K  2 


132        THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

the  cause  of  truth  will  not  suffer,  and  we  shall  be 
a  little  nearer  the  golden  days  of  which  we  dream. 
Undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  powerful  weapons 
in  the  world  for  good  or  evil  is  education.  Often, 
indeed,  the  claim  is  made  for  it  that  it  is  a  good 
thing  in  itself;  but  it  is  in  reality  a  neutral  instru- 
ment which  may  be  employed  by  the  man  who 
possesses  it  either  for  the  blessing  or  the  bane  of 
society.  The  man  with  the  ample  knowledge  and 
the  trained  mind  has  it  in  his  power  to  do  more 
mischief,  should  he  be  so  inclined,  than  one  whose 
resources  and  training  are  more  limited.  His  in- 
struments are  more  numerous,  and  they  have  a 
finer  edge ;  if  he  be  selfish  and  unscrupulous,  he  can 
use  them  to  deadlier  purpose.  They  will  be  in  his 
hands  spears  and  not  pruning-hooks.  It  is  therefore 
of  the  very  first  importance  that,  from  the  begin- 
ning, a  moral  and  religious  atmosphere  be  thrown 
about  the  education  of  a  child.  Knowledge  alone 
will  never  make  him  a  good  man  or  a  benefactor  of 
society.  He  must  have  not  only  his  mind  but  his 
affections  cultivated,  and  his  heart  set  upon  what- 
soever things  are  honourable  and  of  good  report; 
so  that  when  the  time  comes  for  him  to  step  into 
his  share  of  the  world's  work,  he  will  use  any  power 
that  he  has  won  in  the  years  of  preparation,  for  the 
good  of  the  society  in  which  his  lot  is  cast. 

It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  there  lies  upon  those 
who  have  the  high  task  of  training  the  young — > 


SPEARS   AND   PRUNING-HOOKS  133 

whether  in  home  or  school,  in  church  or  college— 
a  very  solemn  responsibility.  They  must  see  to  it 
that  the  weapons  they  are  daily  helping  to  forge, 
will  turn  out  in  the  end  not  spears  but  pruning- 
hooks.  The  process  of  education  ought  to  be 
tempered  at  every  stage  by  influences  of  morality 
and  religion.  It  has  to  be  sorrowfully  confessed 
that  this  has  often  been  forgotten  in  schemes  of 
practical  education,  though  there  is  happily  a 
change  for  the  better  to-day.  As  an  element  in 
education,  morality  has  frequently  been  ignored 
and  sometimes  even  been  flouted.  Some  of  the 
foreign  literature  which  scholarly  young  men  are 
expected  to  study  at  the  universities,  does  not 
always  exactly  make  for  a  high  morality;  and  we 
do  not  strictly  enough  control  the  novels  which  our 
young  people  too  easily  secure  from  circulating 
libraries  and  devour  with  avidity  at  an  age  when 
their  minds  and  imaginations  are  susceptible  to 
impressions  of  every  kind.  We  must  most  zealously 
guard  against  all  educational  influences  which  tend 
to 

"  Feed  the  budding  rose  of  boyhood  with  the  drainage  of  the 

sewer, 
Send  the  drain  into  the  fountain,  lest  the  stream  should  issue 

pure  ; 
Set  the  maiden  fancies  wallowing  in  the  troughs  of  Zolaism, — 
Forward,  forward,  ay  and  backward,  downward  too,  into  the 

abysm." 

The  nemesis  of  such  an  education  is  sure.    The 


134        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

mind  which  is  filled  with  knowledge  but  emptied  of 
moral  interests,  the  imagination  which  is  corrupted 
in  its  youth  by  the  vision  of  things  degrading,  is 
an  abiding  menace  to  the  individual's  inner  peace 
and  also  to  the  welfare  of  society.  The  weapon 
must  be  shaped  into  a  pruning-hook  and  not  into 
a  spear;  the  world  has  already  seen  enough  of 
confusion  and  death. 

It  is  easier  to  make  of  the  metal  a  pruning- 
hook  at  once  than  to  make  the  pruning-hook  out 
of  a  spear.  But  if  the  spear  has  already  been  made, 
the  transformation  only  comes  after  it  has  been 
beaten  with  many  blows.  They  shall  "beat"  their 
spears  into  pruning-hooks ;  if  the  wrong  instrument 
has  been  made  to  begin  with,  then  the  process  of 
transformation  will  require  hard  work.  But  men 
whose  views  of  the  world  have  been  transformed, 
will  not  be  long  in  setting  to  the  task  of  trans- 
forming their  old  weapons  into  instruments  of 
blessing.  The  new  man  will  be  ready  and  glad  to 
take  his  part  in  ushering  in  the  new  world.  The 
warriors  whom  the  prophet  saw  in  imagination  go 
to  Zion  to  have  their  causes  settled  there  by  arbitra- 
tion, have  determined  to  practise  the  art  of  war  no 
more;  and  it  does  one's  heart  good  to  watch  the 
energy  with  which,  when  they  come  back,  they 
deal  their  lusty  blows  upon  the  cruel  swords  and 
spears.  The  love  of  peace  is  now  in  their  hearts; 
they  see  visions  of  ploughed  fields  and  gracious 


SPEARS  AND   PRUNING-HOOKS  135 

hillsides,  and  they  beat  their  spears  into  pruning- 
hooks  for  the  new  world  to  be. 

And  all  this,  says  the  prophet,  is  to  take  place  in 
the  latter  days.  Why  not  to-day  ?  If  only  we 
learn  to  care  more  for  the  pruning-hook  than  the 
spear;  if  only  we  prefer  peace  to  strife,  and  so 
shape  our  life  as  to  promote  good  will  among  men ; 
if  only  we  refuse  to  destroy  our  material,  but  with 
a  sharp  eye  for  its  possibilities,  hold  ourselves  ever 
ready  to  transform  it ;  then  the  consummation  which 
the  prophet  projected  into  the  latter  days,  may 
indeed  be  very  near. 


A   LESSON    IN   CONTRASTS 


A  LESSON   IN   CONTRASTS 

"  While  the  earth  remaineth,  seed-time  and  harvest,  and  cold 
and  heat,  and  summer  and  winter,  and  day  and  night,  shall  not 
cease  " 

There  is  much  consolation  in  the  ancient  assur- 
ance that  "while  the  earth  remaineth,  seed-time  and 
harvest,  and  cold  and  heat,  and  summer  and  winter, 
and  day  and  night,  shall  not  cease."  These  words 
suggest  that  the  order  established  in  nature  by  God 
is  fixed  and  constant,  and  that  men  may  rely  on  it 
for  ever.  But  the  words  suggest  more  than  that. 
They  suggest  that  this  order  which  is  as  reliable  as 
God  Himself  is  yet  an  order  which  is  full  of  con- 
trasts :  in  it  there  is  a  place  for  summer  and  winter 
both,  for  cold  atxl  heat,  for  day  and  night.  It  is 
not  a  perpetual  summer  or  an  unbroken  day  that 
God  has  established,  but  a  summer  followed  by 
winter,  a  day  succeeded  by  night.  In  the  divine 
order  there  is  no  monotony,  there  is  variety  and 
contrast ;  and  while  the  earth  remaineth,  these 
contrasts  shall  never  cease. 

Such  is  the  way  of  God  in  nature,  and  such,  too, 
is  His  way  in  human  life.     We  might  wish  it  other- 

i39 


140        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

wise  :  most  of  us — the  young  at  least — would  think 
life  to  be  so  much  richer  and  fairer,  if  it  were  one 
long  unbroken  summer  and  a  cloudless  day.  But 
it  is  not  so.  No  life  is  so.  In  human  life,  as  in 
nature,  the  winter  comes  as  surely  as  the  summer, 
and  the  night  is  as  certain  as  the  day.  While  the 
earth  remaineth,  winter  and  cold  and  night  shall  not 
cease. 

To  recognize  calmly  the  inevitableness  of  these 
contrasts  and  the  certainty  of  their  recurrence,  is 
more  than  half  the  art  of  life.  The  man  who  quietly 
faces  this  great  fact  will  be  prepared  for  any  kind 
of  experience  that  may  come  to  him,  and  will  know 
how  to  carry  himself  within  it.  He  will  never  allow 
himself  to  be  either  unduly  exalted  or  immoderately 
depressed.  In  his  prosperity  he  will  remember  the 
evil  day,  and  in  his  adversity  he  will  not  lose  heart. 
When  he  stands,  he  will  remember  that  he  may 
fall  :  when  he  falls,  he  will  not  be  utterly  cast  down. 
In  summer  he  will  remember  that  the  winter  is 
coming  :  in  the  gloom  of  winter  he  will  comfort  his 
heart  with  the  thought  of  the  warmth  and  light  of 
the  summers  that  were  and  that  yet  will  be. 

This  is  to  see  life  steadily  and  see  it  whole. 
We  cannot  see  it  steadily  unless  we  see  it  whole. 
All  experience  is  blended  of  bitter  and  sweet.  The 
gladdest  life  is  not  all  joy,  nor  is  the  saddest  all 
sorrow.  "All  our  joy  is  touched  with  pain" — 
shadows  fall  on  brightest  hours,  and  thorns  remain. 


A  LESSON   IN  CONTRASTS  141 

And  it  is  just  as  true  that  all  our  pain  may  be 
soothed  by  the  hope  of  joy  to  be ;  for  if  summer  is 
followed  by  winter,  no  less  surely  does  "every 
winter  change  to  spring." 

"Time,  so  complain'd  of, 
Who  to  no  one  man 
Shows  partiality, 
Brings  round  to  all  men 
Some  undimm'd  hours." 

If  is  right  to  throw  ourselves  into  our  happy  ex- 
periences, if  they  be  honourable,  with  heart  and 
soul  :  but  even  our  happiest  moods  cannot  but  be 
touched  with  solemnity,  when  we  think  how  pre- 
carious it  all  is,  and  how  surely  the  situation  will  be 
one  day  transformed. 

So  also,  when  the  black  night  falls  about  us,  we 
do  well  to  remember  that  no  night,  however  long, 
can  last  for  ever.  The  night  will  pass  and  the 
morning  will  come.  While  the  earth  remaineth, 
men  may  depend  upon  the  day  no  less  than  upon 
the  night.  To  one  who  has  learned  to  look  upon 
life  as  a  succession  of  contrasts,  no  great  surprise 
can  come.  He  knows  that  change  is  inevitable,  and 
he  is  always  inwardly  prepared  for  it.  He  sees 
beyond  the  immediate  experience  to  that  with  which 
it  will  one  day  be  contrasted ;  and,  alike  in  joy  and 
sorrow,  he  preserves  the  steady  heart  and  the  quiet 
mind — for  he  knows  that  neither  can  last  for  ever. 
The  changes  that  are  sure  to  come  he  does  not  fear 


142        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

to  see ;  for,  in  silent  communion  with  his  own  heart, 
he  has  already  faced  them  all. 

The  most  certain  thing  about  every  life,  how- 
ever bright  or  dark  the  immediate  outlook  may  be, 
is  that  its  experience  will  be  checkered.  It  will  be 
neither  all  bright  nor  all  dark.  There  will  be  shadow 
as  well  as  light,  light  as  well  as  shadow.  When  we 
look  the  facts  in  the  face,  do  we  not  see  how  surely 
the  dearest  joys  of  our  life  will  one  day — if  not  for 
us,  then  for  those  whom  we  love — be  changed  into 
sorrow  ?  Every  birth  means  a  death,  every  friend- 
ship means  a  parting.  Where  two  are  dear  to  each 
other,  nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  some  day 
one  will  be  taken  and  the  other  left.  As  the  bride- 
groom stands  with  his  bride  before  the  altar,  and 
the  future  seems  so  fair,  the  words  "Till  death  us 
do  part "  fall  upon  the  heart  as  a  solemn  and  almost 
chilling  reminder  of  the  infinite  pathos  that  is 
woven  through  all  our  earthly  happiness. 

This  is  not  a  gospel  of  pessimism,  nor  a  message 
which  affronts  the  Christian  consciousness.  It  is  but 
the  simple  recognition  of  an  indubitable  fact,  which 
is  not  incompatible  with  a  deep  and  silent  joy  that, 
in  His  own  mysterious  way,  God  doeth  all  things 
well.  It  is  but  a  reading  of  life  which  springs 
from  what  has  been  called  the  "spirit  which  insists 
on  hearing  the  other  side."  The  summer  comes, 
and  after  that  the  winter. 

But  the  truth  of  life's  contrasts  is  double-edged. 


A   LESSON   IN   CONTRASTS  143 

As  it  touches  our  joy  with  solemnity,  so  it  should 
temper  our  sorrow  with  consolation  and  hope. 
There  are  terrible  hours  in  most  lives,  when  we 
stand  before  an  open  grave,  and  the  heart  knoweth 
its  own  bitterness  and  desolation.  Life  can  never 
be  the  same  again,  when  those  with  whom  we  have 
taken  sweet  counsel  together  are  lost  to  our  earthly 
eyes.  And  yet  God  has  so  mercifully  ordained  our 
human  nature  that,  even  throughout  the  lonely 
years,  life  can  be  not  only  endured,  but  earnestly, 
gratefully,  and  even  gladly  lived.  Those  who  have 
gone  before  are  transfigured  by  the  kindly  touch  of 
death  :  as  the  years  go  by,  we  can  think  of  them 
#more  quietly  as  at  home  with  God.  And  other 
blessings  enter  into  our  lives,  in  the  shape  of  new 
friendships  and  tasks,  which  bring  us,  not  indeed 
the  joy  we  buried  in  the  grave — that  is  impossible — 
but  other  joys;  so,  though  weeping  may  endure 
for  a  night,  at  length  joy  cometh  in  the  morning. 
The  wise  man  is  he  who  prepares  himself  for  life's 
contrasts,  for  it  must  needs  be  that  contrasts  come. 
Summer  and  winter,  cold  and  heat,  day  and  night, 
joy  and  sorrow,  shall  not  cease. 

And  this  will  be  true,  while  the  earth  remaineth. 
In  that  other  world,  which  can  only  be  reached 
through  the  portals  of  death,  we  have  reason  to 
believe  it  will  be  otherwise.  There  His  servants 
will  serve  Him,  but  not,  we  believe,  amid  experi- 
ences of  alternating  joy  and  sorrow.     They  shall 


144        THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

go  on  from  strength  to  strength,  and  do  their  happy 
work  in  the  full  light  of  eternal  day.  The  words 
of  holy  scripture  and  the  instincts  of  our  hearts 
alike  assure  us  that  there  shall  be  no  night  there. 
But,  while  we  are  here,  we  must  take  life  as  we 
find  it,  with  its  strange  but  inevitable  contrasts — 
not  too  much  exalted  by  its  joys  nor  too  much  cast 
down  by  its  sorrows.  Let  us  not  forget  that  every 
day  must  end  in  night;  but,  when  the  night  has 
fallen,  let  us  be  patient  and  hopeful,  as  they  that 
watch  for  the  morning. 

"Heaven  overarches  you  and  me, 

And  all  earth's  gardens  and  her  graves. 
Look  up  with  me,  until  we  see 
The  day  break  and  the  shadows  flee." 


THE  CONSOLATIONS  OF  NATURE 


THE   CONSOLATIONS  OF   NATURE 

"He  causes  it  to  rain  on  a  land  where  no  man  is" 

Would  any  one  seriously  think  of  sending  a 
broken-hearted  man  to  nature  for  consolation  ?  Her 
great  Titanic  processes  go  on,  grandly  indifferent 
to  human  misery.  She  speaks  indeed  with  a 
majestic  voice;  but  it  is  for  an  accent  more  personal 
and  human  that  we  yearn,  when  our  hearts  are 
sore.  She  cannot  speak  to  us  the  word  we  need, 
or  at  least  we  have  not  ears  to  hear. 

Is  it  not,  then,  all  the  more  strange  that  a  book 
which  is  among  the  greatest,  and  perhaps  the  very 
greatest  in  the  world,  should  deliberately  send  its 
sorely  tried  hero  to  nature  for  the  healing  of  his 
sorrow  ?  Job  had  mysteriously  suffered.  For  no 
reason  that  he  knew,  he  had  been  stripped  of  almost 
all  that  he  loved,  and  left  with  nothing  that  he 
could  call  his  own  but  a  loathsome  and  incurable 
disease  which  made  life  intolerable  and  death 
welcome. 

His  friends  come  to  comfort  him.  They  offer 
him  the  best  that  men  can  offer,  into  whose  own 
soul  the  iron  has  not  yet  entered— conventional  con- 

L  2  147 


148        THE  CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

solation  and  good  advice.  Naturally,  to  their  per- 
plexed and  desperate  friend,  their  words  are  but 
platitudes,  cruel  and  irrelevant,  which  in  his  honest 
indignation  he  contemptuously  rejects.  But  besides 
these  earthly  friends,  with  their  well-meant  but 
superficial  explanations  of  his  misery,  he  has  a 
Friend  in  the  heavens  who,  he  feels  sure,  will  under- 
stand and  vindicate  him ;  and  to  Him  he  appeals. 
But  with  Job  the  tragedy  is,  as  it  so  often  is,  that 
the  unseen  Friend  remains  unseen,  and  he  is  left 
alone  in  the  universe  with  a  sense  of  indescribable 
desolation.  Then  he  solemnly  and  elaborately  pro- 
tests his  innocence,  and  makes  his  last  supreme 
appeal  to  the  Almighty.  If  only  He  would  appear, 
then  in  the  proud  consciousness  of  his  integrity, 

"  I  would  declare  unto  Him  the  number  of  my  steps; 
As  a  prince  would  I  approach  Him." 

This  time  his  prayer  is  heard.  The  Almighty 
answers  him  out  of  the  whirlwind.  But  what  an 
answer  !  Not  a  syllable  about  Job  or  his  sorrow, 
not  a  word  that  acknowledges  his  integrity  or  com- 
mends his  patience,  not  a  ray  of  light  upon  the 
particular  grief  that  is  breaking  his  indignant  heart, 
not  a  solitary  allusion  to  the  problems  of  the  moral 
world  that  have  been  discussed  with  such  vehe- 
mence by  him  and  his  friends,  not  a  hint  of  another 
world  in  which  the  wrongs  of  this  will  be  righted 
and  its  sorrows  comforted  for  evermore.  Instead 
of  the  consolation  and  the  vindication  with  which 
fie  had  dreamed  his  heavenly  Friend  would  soothe 


THE   CONSOLATIONS  OF  NATURE      149 

his  wounded  heart,  there  is  hurled  out  of  the  whirl- 
wind a  volley  of  ironical  questions  which  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him  or  his  grief,  nor  even  with 
human  life  at  all,  but  which  gather  around  the 
mysterious  processes  of  nature — the  steadiness  of 
the  earth,  the  movement  of  the  sea,  the  invisible 
sources  of  the  snow,  the  rain,  the  hail. 

"  Gird  up  now  thy  loins  like  a  man ; 
For  I  will  demand  of  thee,  and  declare  thou  unto  me. 
Where  wast  thou  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  ? 
Declare,  if  thou  hast  understanding." 

It  seems  cruel  of  the  great  Friend  thus  to  over- 
whelm the  broken-hearted  man  who  had  appealed 
to  Him  so  confidently.     What  does  it  all  mean  ? 

For  one  thing,  it  means  that,  in  perplexity  or 
sorrow,  it  is  good  for  us  to  get  away  from  ourselves 
— "to  forget  ourselves,"  as  one  has  said,  "in  the 
glorious  creation  of  which  we  form  a  part."  Job 
desperately  appeals  to  God  for  a  revelation  of  Him- 
self and  for  light  upon  his  misery;  and,  for  answer, 
God  passes  before  him  the  splendid  panorama  of 
creation — of  earth,  and  sky,  and  sea,  with  the  wild 
and  happy  things  that  are  therein.  To  a  broken 
heart,  such  an  answer  may  seem  a  very  mockery ; 
but  it  is  God's  own  answer,  and  it  means,  at  the 
least,  that  so  long  as  we  have  eyes  for  nothing  but 
our  problems,  the  problems  will  remain.  If  we  do 
not  solve  them,  we  can  at  least  forget  them,  by 
looking  away  to  the  wonders  of  the  immeasurable 
universe. 


150        THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

The  first  feeling  that  comes  upon  us  as  we  look, 
is  a  sense  of  overwhelming  mystery.  Job  has  no 
answer  to  give  to  any  of  the  questions  that  fall  upon 
his  terrified  ears.  He  does  not  know  where  the  light 
dwells.  He  does  not  know  where  God  keeps  His 
treasures  of  snow  and  hail.  He  does  not  really 
know  anything  of  the  wonderful  world  about  him. 
Nor  do  we.  We  have  watched  the  great  processes, 
and  given  them  names,  and  spoken  of  cause  and 
effect,  of  the  conservation  of  force,  and  the  trans- 
formation of  energy ;  but,  in  the  last  resort,  we  are 
as  ignorant  as  Job.  "Behold,  we  know  not  any- 
thing." We  are  not  in  the  secret  counsels  of  the 
Almighty  any  more  than  he. 

The  world  is  a  mystery  which  we  have  to  accept 
without  being  able  to  explain ;  and  this  was  doubt- 
less one  of  the  lessons  which  the  panorama  of  nature 
was  designed  to  bring  home  to  the  desolate  soul  of 
Job.  Mystery,  mystery,  on  the  right  hand  and  on 
the  left !  If  he  could  not  answer  the  simplest  ques- 
tions that  could  be  asked  about  the  familiar  pheno- 
mena of  the  natural  world,  how  could  he  hope  to 
understand  the  infinitely  more  intricate  problems 
that  gather  about  the  moral  world  and  human  life  ? 
Our  problem,  frightful  as  it  is  when  looked  at  by 
itself,  shrivels  almost  into  insignificance,  when  seen 
against  that  background  of  infinite  mystery.  Ours 
is  but  a  little  bit  of  the  mystery  in  which  the  whole 
universe  is  enwrapped,  and  before  which  it  is 
wisdom  to  bow  in  silence. 


THE   CONSOLATIONS   OF  NATURE       151 

This  were,  however,  after  all,  but  a  melancholy 
consolation — resignation  rather  than  consolation ; 
and  the  glorious  vision  of  nature  can  do  more  for 
the  sorrowful  heart  than  that.  The  majestic  speech 
of  the  Almighty,  which  suggests  that  the  universe 
is  a  mystery,  suggests  also  that  it  is  an  orderly 
mystery.  Behind  it  is  Mind.  Its  phenomena  do 
not  happen  in  any  order,  they  happen  in  a  par- 
ticular order;  their  sequence  can  be  depended  upon. 
Its  God  is  a  God  of  order,  not  of  confusion. 
Through  the  centuries  this  order  has  run  inexorably 
on — seedtime  and  harvest,  summer  and  winter,  cold 
and  heat,  day  and  night — and  this  will  continue 
while  the  earth  remaineth. 

In  spite  of  the  mystery  that  baffles  and  besets  us 
behind  and  before,  the  world  of  which  we  form  a 
part  is  a  world  in  which  things  are  in  their  places. 
The  sea  and  the  land  have  each  their  bounds 
assigned  them. 

"Who  shut  up  the  sea  with  doors, 
And  said,  Hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  but  no  further, 
And  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be  stayed?" 

The  sea  is  not  allowed  to  overwhelm  and  devas- 
tate the  land.  In  the  physical  world  things  are 
where  they  should  be,  and  will  it  not  also  be  so  in 
the  world  of  human  life  ?  Sorrow  has  its  place, 
like  the  sea,  but  no  more  than  the  sea  will  it  be 
allowed  to  work  wreck  and  ruin.  "Thus  far  shalt 
thou  come,  but  no  further." 

The  world  we  live  in  is  therefore  a  world  whose 


152        THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

order  we  have  a  right  to  trust.  It  is  full  of  mean- 
ing and  purpose.  And  as  we  watch  the  unfailing 
regularity  with  which  its  great  processes  go  on ;  as 
we  think  of  the  Mind  by  which  they  are  directed, 
and  the  unweary  everlasting  arms  upon  which  they 
are  sustained,  we  too  shall  find  something  of  that 
quiet  order,  which  pervades  the  universe,  enter  and 
take  possession  of  our  own  souls,  as  we  begin  to 
trust  that  infinite  Mind  and  to  lean  with  all  our 
weight  upon  those  mighty  arms. 

But  in  the  mystery  by  which  we  are  surrounded 
there  is  more  than  order;  there  is  love.  The  system 
of  things  is  not  cruel  or  indifferent;  it  is  an  order 
at  the  heart  of  which  is  love.  Surely  this  thought 
was  never  expressed  with  more  tenderness  or  beauty 
than  in  the  lines — 

"He  causes  it  to  rain  on  a  land  where  no  man  is; 
On  the  wilderness,  wherein  there  is  no  man ; 
To  satisfy  the  waste  and  desolate  ground, 
And  to  cause  the  tender  grass  to  spring  forth." 

The  God  who  lavishes  His  love  even  upon  the 
desolate  and  waste  ground,  will  surely  not  forget 
His  men  and  women  with  their  waste  and  desolated 
hearts.  The  great  poet  who  gave  us  this  immortal 
book  does  not  actually  say  so,  indeed  he  deliber- 
ately avoids  saying  so — for  in  these  speeches  he 
persistently  keeps  our  eyes  turned  away  from 
human  life  and  its  problems — but  that  is  what  he 
means.  If  God  cares  for  the  wilderness,  will  He 
not  also  care  for  the  man  ?     If  He  pours  His  love 


THE   CONSOLATIONS   OF  NATURE      153 

even  upon  the  place  where  no  man  is,  He  can  surely 
be  trusted  to  remember  the  places  where  the  men 
are.  It  is  the  Old  Testament  anticipation  of  the 
words  of  Jesus :  "  If  God  so  clothe  the  grass  of  the 
field,  shall  He  not  much  more  clothe  you?"  As 
has  been  well  said,  the  solution  offered  here  is  one 
"which  does  not  solve  the  perplexity,  but  buries  it 
under  the  tide  of  a  fuller  life  and  joy  in  God." 

Even  this  ancient  poet,  who  very  keenly  felt  the 
mystery  that  lies  about  the  world  and  human  life, 
yet  learned  from  nature  that  it  was  not  an  unillu- 
minated  mystery — that  it  was  lit  up  by  the  love 
of  God.  He  saw  that  love  shining  in  the  most 
unlikely  places,  and  he  had  faith  to  believe  that  it 
shines  always  and  everywhere,  whether  men  have 
eyes  to  see  it  or  not.  We  do  not  always  see  it 
plainly;  but  we  see  Jesus,  we  know  Him  and  what 
He  is;  and  the  Mind  that  is  behind  the  universe  is 
the  same  mind  that  was  in  Him.  Could  we  trust 
Him  ?  Surely.  Then  no  less  surely  may  we  trust 
It.  The  mystery  of  life  is  not  indeed  thereby 
abolished,  but  it  is  illuminated.  It  can  be  faced 
with  quietness  and  confidence ;  for  behind  it  is  that 
Love  which 

"  Causes  it  to  rain  upon  the  wilderness  where  no  man  is, 
To  satisfy  the  waste  and  desolate  ground." 


COURAGE,   CHILD 


COURAGE,   CHILD 

"Jesus  said  to  the  paralytic,  'Courage,  child'" 

Of  all  the  words  of  grace  that  proceeded  out  of 
the  mouth  of  Jesus,  few  are  more  precious  than 
those  which  He  spoke  to  the  man  that  was  sick  of 
the  palsy.  There  the  unhappy  man  lay,  stretched 
upon  his  couch,  sick  at  heart,  and  weak  in  body, 
a  burden  alike  to  himself  and  to  his  friends,  unable 
to  move  unless  they  chose  to  move  him.  For  him 
the  future  could  be  but  one  long  stretch  of  misery. 
There  was  only  one  hope  :  if  Jesus  could  but  see 
him  and  touch  him — the  wonderful  Jesus,  who  had 
already  shown  such  strange  love  for  sick  folk  and 
such  mysterious  power  over  the  diseases  that  vexed 
them — perhaps  he  might  yet  be  made  well  again. 
It  may  be  that  the  man  himself  had  no  hope ;  but 
his  friends  hoped  for  him,  and  earnest  friendship 
availeth  much.  They  were  in  deadly  earnest :  and, 
though  under  the  circumstances  a  meeting  with 
Jesus  was  hard  to  secure — for  the  place  was  crowded 
to  the  door  and  He  was  preaching — they  yet  con- 
trived, with  an  ingenuity  sharpened  by  affection, 
to  bring  their  helpless  friend  right  into  the  presence 
of  Jesus. 

'57 


158       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

What  a  contrast  between  the  serene  and  simple 
majesty  of  the  great  Speaker  and  the  helpless 
misery  of  the  man  before  Him.  If  his  physical 
trouble  was  due  to  his  sin — and  that  seems  to  be 
implied  by  the  story — how  abashed  he  must  have 
felt  before  the  pure  gaze  of  Jesus,  as  those  eyes 
looked  into  the  depths  of  his  soul.  What  will  Jesus 
say  ?  It  is  a  great  moment,  as  these  two  men 
silently  confront  each  other,  the  living  embodiment 
of  Helplessness  and  Power.  The  eyes  of  all  are 
riveted  on  Jesus — the  people  with  curious  expect- 
ancy, the  four  friends  with  beating  hearts  and  des- 
perate hopes,  the  scribes  with  a  scowl  upon  their 
faces  and  hate  in  their  hearts. 

What  will  Jesus  say  ?  He  was  deeply  cheered 
by  the  faith  the  friends  had  shown,  and  He  would 
not  let  such  faith  go  away  disappointed.  So,  turn- 
ing to  the  helpless  man  upon  the  couch,  He  said, 
"Courage,  child."  He  said  more,  but  He  began 
by  saying  that.  And  we  can  imagine  how  these 
two  simple  words,  each  in  its  own  way,  began  to 
touch  the  springs  of  life  and  hope  in  the  wasted 
body  before  Him.  The  man,  if  a  great  sinner, 
may  have  been  accustomed  to  words  of  reproach, 
or  to  that  cold  and  shallow  consolation  which  stings 
more  keenly  than  reproach ;  and  now  he  is  told  to 
take  heart  again.  Here  is  One  who  speaks  to  him 
as  if  He  believed  in  the  possibility  of  his  physical 
and   spiritual    recovery,    One   who  appeals   to   his 


COURAGE,  CHILD  159 

slumbering  hope  and  heroism.  And  so  tender 
an  appeal,  too!  He  calls  him  "child."  Many  a 
year  had  passed  since  he  had  been  anybody's 
"child  ";  and  the  tenderness  of  the  speaker,  no  less 
than  His  first  great,  authoritative  word,  goes  to  the 
heart  of  the  unhappy  man.  His  inner  world  is 
transformed;  a  new  life  courses  through  his  veins, 
and  it  will  not  be  long  till  he  will  be  upon  his  feet, 
and  going  upon  his  way  rejoicing.  In  the  presence 
of  this  mysterious  One,  who  speaks  to  him  hope- 
fully, who  bids  him  be  brave,  who  assures  him  of 
the  forgiveness  of  sins,  and  who  calls  him  Child, 
old  things  are  passed  away,  and  a  new  day  has 
dawned. 

Doubtless  this  was  one  of  the  favourite  words  of 
Jesus.  When  the  woman  who  had  been  ill  twelve 
years  fell  trembling  at  His  feet,  after  touching  the 
hem  of  His  garment,  He  reassured  her  with  the 
words,  "Courage,  daughter."  When  the  disciples, 
after  a  tempestuous  night,  were  terrified  by  what 
seemed  like  a  spectral  figure  moving  towards  them 
over  the  waves,  their  fears  were  met  by  a  familiar 
voice,  "Courage,  it  is  I  :  do  not  be  afraid."  And, 
when  by  their  Master's  death,  those  same  disciples 
were  to  be  launched  upon  a  still  more  stormy  sea, 
His  parting  message  to  them  was  the  same : 
"Courage  :  as  for  Me,  I  have  conquered  the  world." 
And  this  was  the  message  with  which  He  still  con- 
tinued to  brace  and  visit  men,  after  He  had  risen 


160       THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

from  the  dead.  When  His  servant  Paul  was  in 
danger  of  being  torn  to  pieces  by  a  fanatical  mob, 
from  whose  hands  he  was  only  rescued  by  the 
forcible  intervention  of  Roman  soldiers,  "the  fol- 
lowing night  the  Lord  stood  by  him,  and  said, 
Courage  " ;  and  the  intrepid  career  of  Paul  is  the 
proof  that  His  Master's  call  to  courage  kept  for 
ever  ringing  in  his  heart.  He  knew  well  that  the 
fierce  activities  and  persecutions  of  his  missionary 
life  were  killing  him,  and  once  and  again,  on  sea 
and  on  the  land,  he  had  been  face  to  face  with 
death.  "Nevertheless,"  he  says,  "we  are  cour- 
ageous at  all  times;  yes,  we  are  courageous,  I  say  " 
— twice  over — "and  well  pleased  to  leave  our  home 
in  the  body,  and  to  go  away  to  be  at  home  with  the 
Lord."  Death  had  no  terror  for  this  man,  he  faced 
it  with  good  courage;  for  it  but  took  him  into  the 
nearer  presence  of  his  Lord. 

These  experiences,  sickness  and  sorrow,  anxiety 
and  death,  lie  before  us  all;  and  in  them  how  can 
we  be  better  cheered  and  heartened  than  just  by  the 
kindly  word  of  Jesus,  "Courage,  child."  In  our 
gospels,  as  we  now  have  them,  the  words  were  first 
spoken  to  a  weak  man  and  to  a  sick  woman.  Such 
we  have  always  with  us;  and  to  the  world's  weak 
and  sick  folk  those  are  the  words  of  Jesus  for  ever. 
"Courage,"  He  said  to  those  who  were  tossed  upon 
the  sea;  and  still  He  says  "Courage"  to  all  who  are 
tossed,  to  all  who  are  sailing  through  a  black  and 


COURAGE,   CHILD  161 

stormy  night,  made  more  awful  by  the  presence  of 
spectres.  The  spectre  which  strikes  a  chill  into  our 
hearts  is  but  Himself  disguised  by  the  mists.  "It 
is  I,"  He  says;  and  the  moment  we  are  sure  of  this, 
we  may  well  take  heart  again.  "Courage,  it  is  I, 
do  not  be  afraid." 

Yes,  we  are  discouraged  by  a  hundred  things — 
by  the  agony  of  a  prolonged  sickness,  by  the 
brutality  of  competition,  by  the  sense  of  our  own 
failure,  by  the  sudden  uprush  of  the  storm  into  our 
quiet  life,  by  the  desolation  of  bereavement,  by  the 
fear  of  death.  In  hours  like  these  we  need  some 
one  who  will  call  us  "Child,"  and  put  heart  in  us 
again.  And  who  can  do  this  like  Jesus?  He  who 
so  gently  bids  us  be  brave  has  Himself  been  in  the 
thickest  of  the  fight.  All  of  weakness  and  sorrow 
that  life  has  to  yield,  He  has  Himself  been  through, 
and  more.  Hunger,  disappointment,  temptation, 
misunderstanding,  treachery,  death — He  knows  it 
all :  for  us  He  faced  it  all,  and  came  back  vic- 
torious. "I  have  overcome  the  world."  It  is  One 
who  has  Himself  conquered  the  world  who  bids  us 
take  courage,  and  who  has  such  a  right  to  bid  us 
as  He?  It  is  His  word,  far  more  than  any  other 
word  that  ever  fell  from  human  lips,  that  puts  us  in 
good  heart  again.  It  is  through  fellowship  with 
Him  that  His  courage  passes  into  us,  and  the 
victory  that  was  His  will  be  ours. 

Courage,  then,  for  God  is  good.     Courage,  for 

M 


162       THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

Jesus  is  with  us  on  the  sick  bed,  and  with  us  in  the 
storm.  Courage,  for  He  overcame,  and  we  shall 
overcome  in  Him. 

He  was  brave  as  He  was  gentle,  and  gentle  as 
He  was  brave.  He  is  touched  for  evermore  with  a 
feeling  of  our  infirmities ;  and  while  He  appeals  to 
our  latent  heroism,  He  yet  deals  with  us  as  little 
children.  Many  a  gracious  word  of  His  rises  to 
our  hearts  as  we  think  of  Him ;  but  with  especial 
gratitude  do  we  remember  Him  for  this  brave  and 
gentle  word.  And  in  every  hour  of  pain  or  fear  or 
desolation  may  we  have  grace  given  us  to  hear  that 
dear  voice  saying  to  our  troubled  hearts,  "  Courage, 
child." 


THE   LAW   THAT   CANNOT 
BE    BROKEN 


M  2 


THE  LAW  THAT  CANNOT  BE  BROKEN 

"Teach  me  Thy  law" 

The  splendid  gains  of  civilization  have  been 
accompanied  by  tragic  and  pathetic  losses.  To- 
day life  is  interesting  as  it  never  has  been  before. 
By  the  railway,  the  steamboat,  the  telegraph,  the 
newspaper,  the  whole  world  is  welded  into  a  com- 
mon brotherhood;  and  the  man  in  New  York  is 
not  content  unless  he  knows  something  of  what 
the  men  in  Tokio  are  doing.  Assuredly  modern 
life  is  interesting — but  it  is  not  quiet.  It  interests 
the  mind,  but  it  does  not  rest  the  spirit.  Perhaps 
there  never  has  been  so  much  noise  in  the  world 
as  there  is  to-day;  certainly  the  stress  and  strain  of 
life  were  never  before  spread  over  so  wide  an  area. 
The  result  is  that  many — and  these  not  the  weakest 
and  the  worst,  but  often  the  strongest  and  the  best 
— are  fainting  beneath  their  burdens. 

There  are  some  who,  humanly  speaking,  cannot 
help  themselves.  There  are  others  whose  physical 
ruin  is,  in  large  measure,  their  own  fault.  If  they 
can  fairly  be  called  victims  at  all,  they  are  the  vic- 
tims of  their  own  good  nature  or  stupidity.  The 
malady  known  as  nervous  prostration  is  appallingly 

165 


166       THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

common.  It  attacks  the  strong,  robust,  and  eager 
man,  as  well  as  the  nervous  and  susceptible  woman ; 
but  no  one  who  has  watched  the  unhappy  victims 
of  its  assaults  can  deny  that  it  attacks  many  who 
ought  to  have  been  impervious  to  its  attacks,  had 
they  used  the  common  sense  which  God  has  given 
them,  or  availed  themselves  of  the  opportunities 
for  rest,  refreshment,  and  recreation,  which  in  many 
cases  were  scattered  plentifully  enough  about  their 
lives.  It  almost  looks  as  if  the  unhappy  sufferers 
had  deliberately  aimed  to  place  themselves  in  the 
position  in  which  they  now  are,  and  had  cultivated 
nervous  prostration  as  if  it  had  been  a  fine  art. 

Of  course  the  statement  has  only  to  be  put  thus 
baldly  for  the  absurdity  of  it  to  be  self-evident.  The 
disease  is  a  ghastly  one.  In  its  power  to  dull  the 
intellect,  to  paralyze  the  moral  energies,  to  cripple 
the  spiritual  power,  to  darken  the  outlook  upon  life 
and  God,  to  envelop  the  spirit  with  gloom,  and  to 
inspire  the  sufferer  with  morbid  and  suicidal 
thoughts,  it  is  an  affliction  from  which  the  bravest 
might  well  shrink  back  in  terror.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  many  a  man,  and  perhaps  still  more,  many  a 
woman,  lives  as  if  he  or  she  were  positively  court- 
ing its  oncoming.  They  do — sometimes,  indeed, 
thoughtlessly,  but  often  enough  deliberately,  and 
with  their  eyes  fully  open  to  all  the  horrible  possi- 
bilities— the  very  things  which  are  bound,  in  the 
long  run,  to  reduce  them  to  physical  wrecks. 


THE  LAW  THAT  CANNOT  BE  BROKEN  167 

For  a  man  has  not  lived  to  much  purpose  if  he 
has  not  learned  that  all  life  is  governed  by  laws, 
and  that  his  health  and  usefulness  depend  upon 
obedience  to  those  laws.  It  matters  not  what  the 
reason  for  the  disobedience  may  be ;  often  the  sin 
may  seem  venial  enough.  But  disobedience  must 
be  punished,  and  the  wages  of  sin  is  prostration, 
and  often  death.  Many  men  burden  themselves  with 
unnecessary  duties.  Imagining  themselves  to  be 
indispensable  to  a  certain  piece  of  work,  they  wil- 
fully refuse  to  avail  themselves  of  the  useful  help 
which  could  easily  be  had,  and  work  on  single- 
handed  or  with  inadequate  assistance  until  their 
own  power  of  work  is  ruined.  Then  they  learn, 
what  they  ought  to  have  known  all  the  time,  that 
they  were  not  indispensable.  Women  yield  to  the 
exacting  demands  of  a  too  frivolous  society,  think- 
ing that  they  can  only  refuse  those  demands  on  the 
penalty  of  social  extinction ;  and  then  the  nervous 
affections  creep  insidiously  on,  till  the  woman  is  a 
wreck,  and  the  social  extinction  which  she  dreaded, 
and  to  avoid  which  she  sacrificed  everything, 
becomes  a  fact. 

But  perhaps  the  saddest  thing  of  all  is  that  so 
many  men  allow  themselves  to  be  misled  by  their 
own  good  nature.  It  may  be  that  a  man  can  do 
three  or  four  things  well.  He  is  a  good  preacher, 
a  good  platform  speaker,  a  good  writer.  Were  he 
only  any  one  of  these,  he  would  have  his  hands  full 


168       THE  CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

enough,  but,  as  it  is,  he  is  assailed  on  three  different 
sides.  The  assailants,  representing,  as  they  do, 
different  interests,  do  not  know  how  cruel  they  are  ; 
all  they  know  is  that  they  are  asking  a  capable  man 
to  do  what  they  know  he  can  do.  It  is  a  situation 
like  this  that  tests  a  man's  real  wisdom  and  insight. 
In  a  weak  moment,  and  for  want  of  the  power  to 
say  "No,"  he  may  accept  engagements  which  he 
can  only  fulfil  through  the  ultimate  ruin  of  his  own 
physical,  and  perhaps  mental,  strength ;  and  one 
may  be  pardoned  for  doubting  whether,  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances,  and  unless  there  be  some  great 
claim  to  be  greatly  met,  God  demands  such  a  sacri- 
fice as  that. 

Even  in  the  interests  of  the  work  itself  the  man 
must  learn  to  say  "No,"  because  he  does  that  work 
a  gross  injustice — the  greatest  injustice  he  as  an 
individual  can  do  it — by  putting  himself  deliber- 
ately in  the  position  of  being  ultimately  unable  to 
do  it.  The  loss  of  a  good  worker  is  the  most  serious 
loss  which  a  great  cause  can  sustain,  and  that  loss 
is  inevitable  if  the  worker  commits  the  folly  of  work- 
ing beyond  his  strength.  And  it  is  precisely  the 
best  workers  who  are  most  exposed  to  this  tempta- 
tion, for  it  is  upon  them,  very  naturally,  that  the 
world  lays  Its  heaviest  and  most  numerous  demands. 

But  the  laws  of  health  are  the  laws  of  God.  The 
sooner  we  learn  that  if  a  man  has  the  hardihood 
to  defy  the  laws  of  God,  it  is  he  who  suffers,  and 


THE  LAW  THAT  CANNOT  BE  BROKEN    169 

not  they,  the  better  it  will  be  for  us  all.  We  pray- 
glibly  for  a  revelation  from  God,  and  here  is  one 
of  the  plainest  and  most  undeniable  revelations  that 
man  can  ever  hope  to  receive.  Yet  every  month 
Christian  men  defy  it  repeatedly  and  deliberately. 
How  can  we  hope  to  be  happy  if  we  defy  the  great 
and  beneficent  laws  of  God?  Is  it  fair  that  we 
should  be  happy?  The  way  of  transgressors  is 
hard,  and  the  man  or  woman  who  needlessly  over- 
works is  a  transgressor,  and  just  as  sure  of  punish- 
ment as  any  other  transgressor.  It  is  easier  to  run 
down  than  to  run  up.  It  is  months,  and  often 
years,  before  the  victim  of  nervous  prostration 
recovers  that  elasticity  and  buoyancy  of  spirit  which 
constitutes  more  than  half  the  happiness  of  life.  It 
is  a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  arms  of  these 
mighty  laws  of  God.  Every  Sabbath  day  is  a 
reminder  of  the  folly,  indeed  of  the  crime,  of  over- 
work. The  man  who  refuses  to  avail  himself  of  his 
proper  rest  and  recreation  is  indeed  a  bold  man ; 
he  is  defying  the  established  order  of  the  world, 
violating  the  constitution  of  his  own  being,  and 
dashing  himself  against  the  laws  of  God.  But  in 
such  a  collision  we  may  be  very  sure  that  it  is  he, 
and  not  theyt  that  will  be  broken  in  pieces. 


CHRIST'S    CARE   FOR   THE 
FRAGMENTS 


CHRIST'S  CARE  FOR  THE  FRAGMENTS 

"Gather  up  the  fragments,  that  nothing  be  lost" 

Like  all  great  things,  the  gospel  of  Jesus  is  too 
large  to  imprison  within  the  walls  of  a  definition ; 
but  if  it  is  to  be  defined  at  all,  it  could  not  be  defined 
more  simply  or  justly  than  as  "care  for  the  frag- 
ments." Everywhere  throughout  His  ministry, 
everywhere  throughout  the  Gospels,  shines  His  in- 
terest in  the  broken  things  of  life.  They  interested 
Him,  because  they  vexed  Him ;  and  they  vexed 
Him  because  they  were  missing  their  high  destiny. 
Fragments  are  failures,  and  it  was  the  mission  and 
the  delight  of  the  Divine  Artist  to  gather  them 
together  and  bind  them  into  a  complete  and  beau- 
tiful whole. 

And  so  it  would  not  be  unjust  to  find  the  motto 
of  the  life  of  Jesus  in  the  words  He  addressed  to 
His  disciples  after  the  feeding  of  the  five  thousand 
— "Gather  up  the  fragments  that  remain,  that 
nothing  be  lost."  These  words,  slight  as  they 
seem,  and  humble  as  was  the  sphere  to  which  they 
were  first  applied,  are  as  a  window  through  which 
we  may  look  into  the  gracious  soul  of  Jesus.    They 

i73 


174       THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

are  not  random  words;  they  are  words  that  rose 
from  the  very  bottom  of  His  heart,  revealing  the 
depths  of  its  tenderness  and  the  impulse  of  His 
entire  ministry.  Spoken  first  of  fragments  of 
bread,  they  are  symbolic  of  His  consuming  and 
undying  interest  in  fragments  of  every  kind — of 
time,  of  manhood,  of  every  broken  thing. 

Very  wonderful  is  this  whole  scene,  and  most 
wonderful  of  all  is  Jesus.  The  vast,  hungry  crowd 
is  gathered  in  a  spot,  not  far  from  the  lakeside, 
where  there  was  much  grass.  Jesus  faces  the 
crowd,  and  here,  as  everywhere,  He  is  the  Master. 
Gracious  as  He  is,  He  is  every  inch  a  King.  He 
speaks  as  one  having  authority,  and  at  once  the 
movement  and  confusion  of  the  crowd  change  to 
order  and  beauty.  They  recline  in  companies  upon 
the  green  grass,  and,  with  a  true  eye  for  the  pictur- 
esque, Mark — or  his  informant — compares  them, 
as  they  lay,  with  the  brilliant  colours  of  their  dresses 
showing  up  against  the  grass,  to  flower  beds.  It 
is  a  happy  picture;  a  touching  one,  too,  when  we 
think  of  the  sore  and  troubled  hearts  that  beat 
beneath  many  a  coloured  robe.  It  is  a  blessed 
thing  to  see  the  poetry  as  well  as  the  pathos  of  such 
a  crowd. 

But  all  was  not  over  when  the  feast  was  done. 
The  greatest  thing  was  yet  to  come,  and  Jesus  was 
yet  to  utter  one  of  His  most  memorable  words. 
There  were  broken  pieces  left,   enough  to  satisfy 


CHRISTS  CARE  FOR  THE  FRAGMENTS     175 

other  hungry  men,  and  these  must  not  be  carelessly 
wasted.  There  were  possibilities  in  the  fragments 
which  none  saw  but  Jesus.  The  crowd  had  ap- 
peased its  hunger  and  thought  of  nothing  more, 
and  it  would  seem  that  the  disciples  thought  no 
more  of  the  fragments  than  did  the  crowd.  Nobody 
saw  their  value  but  Jesus;  so,  "when  the  people 
were  satisfied,  Jesus  said  to  His  disciples,  '  Gather 
up  the  fragments — the  broken  pieces — that  remain, 
that  nothing  be  lost.' "  One  might  have  been 
tempted  to  marvel  at  what  seems  the  almost  too 
rigid  economy  of  Jesus.  Why  so  much  interest  in 
fragments  of  bread?  How  could  they  ever  serve 
again  ?  But  the  marvel  dies  away  the  moment  we 
consider  the  reason,  for  though  Jesus  is  always 
authoritative,  He  is  always  reasonable.  "Gather 
up  the  fragments,"  He  says,  "in  order  that  not  a 
thing  may  perish."  The  word  here  is  the  same  as 
that  used  of  the  lost  sheep,  the  lost  coin,  the  lost 
son. 

The  world  is  full  of  fragments,  and  that  must  not 
be,  says  Jesus;  let  them  be  gathered  up.  All  about 
us  men  and  things  are  perishing,  and  that  must 
not  be,  says  Jesus;  let  nothing  perish.  He  is  the 
true  Son  of  the  God  of  whom  it  is  said  that  He  doth 
not  wish  that  any  should  perish. 

"That  not  a  thing  should  perish" — it  was  of 
fragments  of  bread  that  Jesus  spoke  those  earnest 
words;  but  they  illumine  not  that  incident  alone, 


176       THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

but  the  whole  of  His  ministry  from  the  baptism  to 
the  cross,  and  He  wrote  them  literally  on  the  pages 
of  history  with  His  heart's  blood.  Nothing  vexed 
Him  so  much  as  to  see  things  perishing ;  it  was  for 
their  sake  He  came.  "The  Son  of  Man,"  He  said, 
speaking  of  Himself,  "came  to  seek  and  to  save 
that  which  was  lost " — and  the  word  is  the  same  as 
that  here  used  for  the  fragments  of  bread.  To  Him 
the  fragments  were  the  most  interesting  things  in 
all  the  world;  and  His  command  to  His  disciples 
was  then,  and  is  now,  that  they  too  should  care  for 
the  fragments. 

This  care  for  the  fragments  has  a  hundred  appli- 
cations in  the  life  of  Jesus.  The  fragments  of  time 
to  Him  were  very  precious,  and  He  did  not  wish 
that  any  should  perish.  The  day  was  long  enough 
—for  were  there  not  twelve  hours  in  it  ? — but  it  was 
not  too  long,  and  there  were  not  too  many  of  them 
in  which  to  do  His  Father's  business.  Therefore 
He  gathered  up  its  every  fragment  and  filled  it  full 
of  work  or  rest  or  prayer;  for  He  never  forgot  that 
the  night  was  coming  when  men  work  no  more. 

Beautiful,  too,  is  the  interest  of  Jesus  in  the 
ancient  fragments  of  revelation.  He  knew  that  His 
Father  had  spoken  to  men  in  the  olden  time;  and 
He  treasured  those  fragments  of  psalm  and  wisdom 
and  prophecy  and  gathered  them  together  upon 
Himself.  He  came  not  to  destroy  those  relics  of 
the  past,  but  to  fulfil,  to  complete,  to  illumine  their 


CHRISTS  CARE  FOR  THE  FRAGMENTS    177 

fragmentary  suggestions,  that  nothing  might  be 
lost. 

But  dearest  of  all  to  Jesus  were  the  broken  lives 
of  men ;  and  here,  if  anywhere,  was  the  passion  of 
His  heart  that  nothing  might  be  lost.  The  world 
was  full  of  such  fragments;  but  Jesus  was  the  first 
to  see  how  very  precious  they  were,  and  how  much 
could  be  done  with  them.  The  womanhood  that 
had  been  shattered  by  sin  He  restored  to  conscience 
and  honour  by  the  purity  of  His  mighty  love,  so 
that  the  sinner  who  had  been  but  too  well  known 
in  the  city  was  touched  to  tears  by  the  sight  of  Him, 
and  in  a  penitent  burst  of  pure  and  grateful  devo- 
tion, fervently  kissed  His  feet.  Thus,  by  the  magic 
of  Christ's  love,  was  many  a  fragment  of  fallen 
nature  gathered  up  and  tenderly  put  together  again. 
Love  and  insight  went  together — love  for  the  frag- 
ments, insight  into  their  possibilities.  His  ministry 
was  a  continual  gathering  and  restitution  of  the 
broken  pieces.  "Jehovah  doth  build  up  Jerusalem; 
He  gathereth  together  the  outcasts  of  Israel."  It 
is  a  Christlike  thing  to  care  for  the  fragments. 
Every  life  that  is  broken — whether  by  poverty  or 
disease,  by  folly  or  ignorance,  by  sin  or  sorrow,  by 
crime  or  misfortune — is  another  call  to  arise  and  do 
as  did  the  Master,  who  loved  the  fragments  and 
gave  His  life  that  they  might  be  made  whole. 

This  great  word  of  Jesus  is  as  applicable  to  the 
little  things  of  life  as  to  the  great.     Fragments  of 


178       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

time,  of  strength  and  of  knowledge  are  squandered 
and  lost  just  as  surely  as  fragments  of  character, 
and  all  for  want  of  taking  to  heart  the  Master's 
simple  word.  The  motto  of  our  life  should  be  the 
motto  of  His,  "That  not  a  thing  be  lost."  If 
any  useful  thing  that  belongs  to  us  perish,  we  are 
so  much  the  poorer,  so  much  the  worse  equipped 
for  the  work  which  is  given  to  us  to  do. 

How  then  shall  we  save  the  fragments  from 
perishing  ?  "  Gather  them  up,"  says  Jesus ;  or  more 
literally  and  appropriately,  "Gather  them  together" 
■ — for  the  Greek  word  means  precisely  that.  The 
fragments  are  impotent,  so  long  as  they  are  apart ; 
but  bring  them  together,  and  see  what  wonders  they 
will  work.  One  broken  piece  of  bread  will  do  little 
to  satisfy  a  hungry  man,  but  twenty  such  pieces 
would  go  a  long  way. 

So  it  is  with  all  our  scattered  and  fragmentary 
resources.  Every  man  is  meeting  every  day  with 
facts  and  statements  of  which  it  would  be  worth  his 
while  to  have  a  permanent  and  accessible  record. 
But  we  trust  to  our  memories — those  unhappy  sieve- 
like memories — and  the  precious  facts  filter  through 
and  disappear.  Or  if,  in  a  sudden  access  of  wis- 
dom, we  record  them,  we  do  so  without  system ; 
the  records  are  loose,  scattered  or  misplaced,  and 
when  they  are  wanted,  they  cannot  be  found,  simply 
because  they  were  not  gathered  together.  Our 
resources  are  in  many  cases  extensive  enough,  but 


CHRIST'S  CARE  FOR  THE  FRAGMENTS     179 

they  are  too  often  useless  in  the  hour  of  necessity, 
because  they  are  not  concentrated.  The  records  are 
here  and  there  and  everywhere,  and  thus  their 
cumulative  effect  is  lost.  They  are  practically  im- 
potent, because  they  are  fragmentary.  Would  it 
not  then  be  common  prudence  in  these  matters,  as 
in  all  matters,  to  listen  to  the  words  of  Jesus  to  His 
disciples,  "Gather  together  the  fragments,  that 
nothing  perish"  ? 

And  then  there  is  the  surprise  of  the  accumulated 
fragments.  For  we  read  that  when  the  disciples 
had  gathered  as  the  Master  had  bidden  them,  they 
took  up  twelve  baskets  full.  To  those  who  gather 
the  fragments  there  may  be  but  seven  baskets,  or 
there  may  be  twelve;  but  one  thing  is  certain,  that 
there  will  be  more,  far  more,  than  ever  they  had 
dared  to  expect.  The  possibilities  of  the  fragments 
are  infinite,  and  a  glad  surprise  awaits  the  man  who 
has  the  wisdom  to  gather  them  together.  He  is 
richer  than  he  knows.  It  may  be  but  the  odd 
moments  of  a  day ;  but  thirty  minutes  saved  a  day 
would  yield  over  seven  days  in  the  year,  and  in 
seven  continuous  days  a  man  who  knows  his  own 
mind  may  do  or  learn  much.  Insight  into  the  value 
of  the  fragments  and  will  to  gather  them  together — 
this  is  largely  the  art  of  life,  and,  in  its  widest 
application,  constitutes  the  gospel  of  Jesus.  The 
man  who  will  gather  his  sheaves  together  will 
doubtless  come  again  with  joy. 

N  2 


JUSTIFICATION    BY   WORDS 


JUSTIFICATION   BY  WORDS 

"By  thy  words  thou  shalt  be  justified,  and  by  thy 
words  thou  shalt  be  condemned" 

Many  a  battle  royal  has  been  fought  over  the 
doctrines  of  justification  by  faith  and  justification 
by  works,  but  perhaps  we  have  heard  less  than  we 
ought  about  justification  by  words.  It  is  not  an 
apostle,  but  the  Master  Himself,  who  urges  the  too 
much  neglected  truth  that  men  are  justified  by  their 
words. 

This  great  utterance  of  Jesus  was  called  forth  by 
the  malevolent  criticism  of  the  Pharisees.  He  had 
just  performed  a  great  healing  miracle  which  had 
astonished  the  assembled  crowds,  and  convinced 
them  that  He  was  the  Messiah.  The  spiteful  Phari- 
sees have  another  explanation.  He  casts  out 
demons,  they  said,  by  the  prince  of  the  demons. 
They  do  not  and  dare  not  deny  the  fact,  but  they 
explain  it  by  asserting  that  He  is  in  league  with 
the  powers  of  evil.  And  nothing  could  have 
troubled  Jesus  more  than  this,  that  men  should  look 
upon  His  beautiful  and  gracious  deed  and  deliber- 
ately pronounce  it  the  work  of  the  Devil.     Men  who 

183 


184       THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

could  do  that  were  not  only  lost  to  all  sense  of 
honour,  but  were  devoid  of  moral  sensibilities. 
Their  world  was  turned  upside  down.  They  were 
the  sworn  foes  of  beneficence.  They  called  good 
evil,  and  evil  good.  No  words,  therefore,  were  too 
severe  to  characterize  their  moral  brutality,  and  our 
consciences  instinctively  acknowledge  the  justice  of 
this  great  utterance  of  Jesus,  "By  thy  words  thou 
shalt  be  justified,  and  by  thy  words  thou  shalt  be 
condemned." 

We  are  not,  indeed,  accustomed  to  think  of  the 
judgment  day  in  terms  of  this  standard.  It  is  a 
standard  so  simple  and  obvious  that  in  practical 
life  we  easily  ignore  it.  And  yet  what  could  be 
more  natural  or  just  than  that  our  destiny  should 
be  decided  by  the  kind  of  words  that  we  have 
spoken  ?  For,  as  are  the  words,  so  is  the  man.  It 
is  out  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  that  the  mouth 
speaks.  The  malice  or  passion  that  rings  in  the 
words  lay  first  in  the  heart.  The  words  are  inevit- 
ably a  specimen  of  the  man.  They  are  the  creation 
of  his  inmost  spirit,  and  the  quality  of  that  unseen 
spirit  may  be  more  than  approximately  measured 
by  the  audible  words  in  which  it  habitually  utters 
itself. 

If  this  be  so,  then  is  not  speech  a  much  more 
solemn  thing  than  we  commonly  suppose  it  to  be  ? 
Think  of  the  myriads  of  words  that  are  uttered 
every  day,  and  in  the  light  of  them  think  of  the 


JUSTIFICATION   BY  WORDS  185 

solemn  and  almost  appalling  declaration  of  Jesus 
that  for  every  ineffectual  word  that  men  speak  they 
will  have  to  give  an  account  in  the  day  of  judg- 
ment !  In  one  sense,  every  word  is  effectual,  doubly 
effectual ;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  it  reveals  the  spirit 
of  the  speaker,  and,  on  the  other,  by  helping  to  con- 
firm the  character  which  it  expresses,  it  goes  to  fix 
the  speaker's  destiny.  In  the  light  of  the  judg- 
ment, every  word  is  thus  tragically  effectual ;  it  is 
helping  to  set  us  on  the  right  hand  or  on  the  left. 
But  when  the  day  is  done,  and  the  silence  has  come, 
and  we  quietly  think  of  the  words  that  are  dead, 
how  many  of  them  were,  in  any  high  or  noble  sense, 
effectual  ?  How  many  of  them  would  have  justified 
us  in  the  judgment?  Most  were  trivial,  and  many 
were  thoughtless,  and  some  were  stupid,  and  per- 
haps a  ft  w  were  false  and  cruel — and  was  it  not  a 
very,  very  few  which  were  effectual  ?  Do  you 
remember  one  ? 

It  is  a  great  thing,  this  human  speech  of  ours — a 
terrible  thing  !  Some,  who  know  the  awful  powers 
and  dangers  that  lie  hidden  in  the  heart  of  a  word, 
have  thought  it  the  highest  wisdom  to  keep  the  lips 
sealed.  "Speech  is  silvern,  Silence  is  golden." 
There  are  few  nations  without  a  proverb  which 
expresses  the  superiority  of  silence  to  speech.  Like 
most  words  which  tersely  embody  the  wisdom  of 
humanity  upon  its  average  levels,  this  proverb  is 
only  partly  true ;  it  partly  needs  to  be  supplemented 


186       THE  CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

by  a  more  courageous  word.  There  are  indeed 
times  when  silence  is  the  highest  wisdom ;  there  are 
other  times  when  silence  is  a  crime !  It  is  a  crime 
to  say,  in  a  moment  of  passion,  the  thing  that 
wounds;  but  it  is  no  less  a  crime  to  leave  unsaid 
the  thing  that  might  have  helped  or  soothed  or 
cheered.  A  monastic  order  which  enjoins  perpetual 
silence  will  doubtless  avoid  some  of  the  sins  which 
beset  their  more  loquacious  fellow-mortals,  but  they 
will  also  lose  numberless  opportunities  of  doing 
good.  Knives  may  cut  our  hands,  but  we  do  not 
therefore  bury  them;  we  learn  how  to  use  them. 
Nor  does  any  man  do  well  who  deliberately  sur- 
renders the  divine  gift  of  speech  because  it  often 
proves  a  perilous  weapon,  and  sometimes  a  deadly 
one.  Rather  should  we  learn  how  to  control  it,  and 
to  turn  the  words  which  we  all  too  glibly  utter,  into 
weapons  for  fighting  the  battles  of  the  Lord. 
Words  are  the  weapons  of  our  service,  which  only 
the  fewest  know  well  how  to  wield.  They  are  in- 
struments through  which  we  may,  almost  every 
hour  of  every  day,  be  giving  effect  to  the  will  of 
God;  and  to  every  thoughtful  man  the  power  of 
speech  brings  solemn  obligations.  When  we  have 
been  betrayed  by  our  too-ready  tongues  into  some 
indiscretion  which  we  may  for  long  regret,  we  begin 
to  understand  the  monk  who  wrote,  "Oftentimes  I 
could  wish  that  I  had  held  my  peace  when  I  had 
spoken,   and  that   I   had   not   been   in  company. 


JUSTIFICATION   BY   WORDS  187 

Why  do  we  so  willingly  speak  and  talk  with  one 
another,  when  notwithstanding  we  seldom  cease  our 
converse  before  we  have  hurt  our  conscience  ?  "  But 
the  wise  man  is  not  always  the  silent  man ;  he  is 
the  man  who  uses  words  for  God. 

There  is  much  that  is  pathetic  in  the  history  of 
human  speech.  Case-endings,  which  were  originally 
full  of  significance,  lose  their  freshness  and  force, 
and  often  vanish  altogether,  their  place  being  taken, 
perhaps,  by  some  prepositional  phrase,  whose 
clumsiness  would  have  astonished  the  ancient  men. 
And  what  has  happened  to  the  inflections  has  too 
often  happened  to  the  words  themselves.  They 
have  steadily  but  surely  been  emptied  of  their  great 
original  content.  An  "awful  place"  used  to  mean 
a  place  which  could  touch  the  spirit  to  awe — such 
a  place  as  the  rugged  hillside  where  the  lonely  Jacob 
saw  the  angels  of  God  ascending  and  descending. 
It  would  mean  something  very  different  to-day. 
Great  words  have  so  often  passed  through  careless 
and  insincere  lips  that  they  no  longer  mean  what 
they  once  meant.  "Awfully"  has,  in  much  collo- 
quial speech,  usurped  the  place  of  "very."  We 
use  superlatives  where  sincerer  men  would  use  posi- 
tives ;  for  this  is,  in  part,  a  question  of  individual 
and  social  sincerity.  As  strong  and  noble  words 
gradually  lost  their  meaning;  they  had  to  be  rein- 
forced by  other  words,  and  these  again  by  other 
words,  till  the  old  simplicity  and  strength  became 


188       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

little  more  than  a  philological  tradition.  To  say 
that  a  thing  is  good,  or  that  we  like  it  well,  ought 
to  be  one  of  the  highest  expressions  of  appreciation  ; 
but  that  is  hardly  the  market  value  of  those  great 
words  to-day.  The  careless  application  of  these 
and  many  similar  words  has  deprived  them  of  their 
primal  strength  and  flavour;  and  part  of  the 
Christian  problem  to-day  is  just  to  learn  to  use  the 
strong  common  words  of  our  English  speech  with 
that  noble  sincerity  which  can  dispense  with  super- 
latives and  exaggerations. 

In  the  last  resort,  this  is  a  question  of  character. 
A  man  necessarily  speaks  as  he  is.  It  is  himself 
that  he  utters.  His  words  are  his  spirit  rendered 
audible.  They  show  what  manner  of  man  he  is ; 
they  justify  or  condemn  him.  A  good  man  will 
therefore  be  careful  of  all  his  words,  but  he  must 
especially  beware  how  he  uses  the  great  words  of 
the  Christian  faith.  He  must  be  jealously  on  his 
guard  lest  his  use  of  them  deplete  them  of  their 
divine  content.  There  are  some  words  whose 
original  nobility  is  gone,  perhaps  beyond  all  hope 
of  recovery;  but  there  are  others  which  every  man 
should  count  it  a  privilege  to  keep  bright  and 
clean.  We  shall  not  lightly,  for  example,  call 
every  one  a  Christian  whose  name  is  written  upon 
the  books  of  the  visible  Church.  We  shall  reserve 
that  word  for  those  who  love  Christ,  not  in  word 
only,  but  in  deed  and  truth.     The  right  and  con- 


JUSTIFICATION   BY   WORDS  189 

scientious  use  of  words  will  strengthen  the  sincerity 
of  our  own  soul,  and  will  constitute  our  tiny  contri- 
bution to  the  maintenance  of  at  least  one  lofty  ideal 
among  the  men  and  women  about  us.  We  shall, 
even  in  the  common  converse  of  our  life,  strive  to 
realize  both  the  dignity  and  the  responsibility  of 
human  speech ;  and  we  shall  use  it  cheerfully 
indeed,  but  humbly  and  carefully,  as  men  who  will 
one  day  have  to  give  an  account. 


CONTINUALLY   WITH   THEE 


CONTINUALLY  WITH   THEE 

"  Nevertheless  I  am  continually  with  Thee  " 

Religion  is  the  link  that  binds  man  to  God,  and 
the  religious  man  is  the  man  who  is  always  sure  of 
God.  He  is  the  man  who,  wherever  he  may  be,  and 
whatever  he  may  be  called  upon  to  do  or  to  bear, 
can  say  with  a  high  heart,  "Nevertheless  I  am  con- 
tinually with  Thee."  He  is  the  man  who  counts 
God  the  great  reality,  and  who  knows  himself  to  be 
the  friend  of  God. 

Now  if  God  be  indeed  the  great  reality — if  He 
be  the  creator  and  sustainer  of  all  the  worlds,  if 
He  be  high  and  lifted  up  above  all  the  chances  and 
changes  of  mortality,  and  if  He  loves  men — surely 
that  man  must  be  happy  and  secure,  whose  soul 
is  stayed  on  such  a  God  !  For  if  he  can  believe 
and  has  reason  to  believe  that  such  a  Presence  can 
and  does  come  into  his  life — that  his  God  is  not 
merely  in  the  heavens  above  or  on  the  earth  be- 
neath, the  high  and  holy  One  who  inhabiteth 
eternity,  but  that  He  is  very  nigh  him — is  it  not 
clear  that  this  belief  must  transfigure  his  life,  and 
touch  it  to  the  finest  and  the  best  that  it  can  be? 
o  193 


194       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

For  by  his  side  there  is  a  Friend — not  a  force,  but 
a  Friend,  strong  and  wise  and  tender;  not  simply 
a  force  that  makes  for  righteousness,  but  a  living 
God  whose  love  will  not  let  him  go,  whose  light 
follows  all  his  way,  and  by  whose  law  he  must 
live. 

To  such  a  man  life  will  indeed  be  a  solemn  and 
mysterious  thing.  He  will  feel  himself  to  be 
standing  on  the  shores  of  infinity  and  eternity; 
but  the  mystery  is  one  which  he  will  not  fear,  for 
it  is  the  mystery  of  love.  "As  for  me,  I  am  con- 
tinually with  Thee.  Thou  dost  hold  me  by  the 
right  hand.  Thou  wilt  lead  me  across  the  journey 
of  life,  and  guide  me  by  Thy  counsel;  and  after- 
ward— when  the  journey  is  done — Thou  wilt  re- 
ceive me  to  glory."  To  lose  this  faith  is  to  let  the 
light  go  out  of  life.  One  who  had  lost  it  for  a  time 
has  told  us  that,  with  this  negation  of  God,  the 
universe  to  him  had  lost  its  soul  of  loveliness; 
and  "although,"  he  said,  "from  henceforth  the 
precept  to  '  work  while  it  is  day  '  will  doubtless 
but  gain  an  intensified  force  from  the!  terribly 
intensified  meaning  of  the  words  that  'the  night 
cometh,  when  no  man  can  work,'  yet  when  at  times 
I  think,  as  think  at  times  I  must,  of  the  appalling 
contrast  between  the  hallowed  glory  of  that  creed 
which  once  was  mine,  and  the  lonely  mystery  of 
existence  as  now  I  find  it — at  such  times  I  shall 
ever  feel  it  impossible  to  avoid  the  sharpest  pang 
of    which     my    nature    is    susceptible."      These 


CONTINUALLY   WITH   THEE  195 

pathetic  words  of  George  Romanes  are  proof 
enough  of  the  desolating  blight  that  the  loss  of 
the  sense  of  God  can  cast  over  the  human  spirit. 

The  transforming  power  of  religion  is  seen  even 
in  the  religious  man's  attitude  to  nature.  Probably 
most  good  men  do  not  allow  themselves  to  be 
sufficiently  impressed  by  the  sacramental  aspect  of 
nature.  They  call  in  the  help  of  God  to  support 
them  when  the  shadows  come,  but  too  often  they 
forget  to  contemplate  the  glory  and  the  love  which 
shine  through  all  the  works  which  He  has  made — 
the  sea  and  the  earth  and  the  "splendid  breadth  of 
the  open  sky."  There  is  much  in  nature  that  seems 
hard  and  cruel :  in  some  of  her  moods,  she  seems 
like  a  very  monster,  "red  in  tooth  and  claw."  But 
to  the  man  who  has  learned  to  look  out  on  the  world 
with  the  eyes  of  Jesus,  it  is  one  of  the  many  man- 
sions of  the  Father's  beautiful  house.  He  sees  the 
Father  wherever  he  turns  his  eyes.  It  is  He  who 
causes  the  sun  to  shine  upon  the  just  and  upon 
the  unjust,  and  who  sends  the  seed-time  and 
harvest,  the  summer  and  winter,  the  cold  and  heat, 
the  day  and  night.  To  such  a  man  it  is  never  very 
far  to  God ;  for  the  earth  is  the  Lord's  and  the 
fulness  thereof,  and  on  any  spot  of  it  the  religious 
man  may  find  Him.  He  lifts  up  his  eyes  to  the 
stars  and  he  sees  in  them  "the  wide  and  shining 
house  of  God."  He  feels  at  home  in  the  Universe; 
for  the  Universe  is  his  Father's  house,  and  he  is 
his  Father's  son.  He 
o  2 


196       THE  CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

"can  be  calm  and  free  from  care 
On  any  shore,  since  God  is  there." 

He  is  not  alone,  never  alone,  for  the  Father  is 
with  him,  and  the  abiding  presence  of  the  Father 
is  able  to  transfigure  for  him  the  whole  world. 
Wherever  I  am,  in  the  loneliness  of  a  strange  land, 
or  among  the  silences  of  the  night,  "nevertheless  I 
am  continually  with  Thee." 

And  if  this  faith  in  God  is  able  to  transfigure  the 
world  for  me,  to  reveal  it  to  me  as  the  Father's 
house,  and  light  it  up  with  the  Father's  love,  still 
more  is  it  able  to  transfigure  my  life.  What  an 
infinite  difference  it  makes  to  the  inner  life  of  a 
man,  as  soon  as  he  believes  with  all  his  soul  that 
God  is !  If  God  is,  then  He  has  to  be  reckoned 
with.  He  knows  my  downsitting  and  mine  uprising. 
There  is  not  a  word  on  my  tongue  or  a  thought  in 
my  heart,  but,  behold !  He  knows  it  altogether. 
And  if  He  knows,  what  a  power  this  should  be  to 
purify  the  heart  and  to  touch  the  motives  and  pur- 
poses of  life  to  sincerity  !  "Search  me  and  try  me," 
said  one  to  God.  There  are  few  who  would  care, 
few  who  would  dare,  thus  boldly  to  challenge  Al- 
mighty God — few  who  could  fling  their  lives  open 
to  the  scrutiny  of  those  searching  eyes,  and  none 
who  could  do  it  with  any  success  at  all,  but  one 
who  all  the  time  was  saying  to  his  heart,  "never- 
theless I  am  still  with  Thee." 

Besides  securing  this  inner  sincerity,  the  sense 
of  the  presence  of  God  is  fitted  to  impart  peace  and 


CONTINUALLY   WITH   THEE  197 

steadfastness  to  the  life ;  for  the  God  who  is  ever- 
more present  is  a  God  who  cares — not  a  force,  but 
a  Father.  When  the  clouds  begin  to  sweep  across 
our  sky,  it  is  not  enough  to  believe  that  God  is. 
If  the  heart  would  be  at  peace,  we  must  believe  also 
that  He  is  Love,  and  that  the  rushing  of  the  storm 
is  but  the  mighty  voice  of  that  love. 

Now  this  peace  amid  the  blows  and  buffets  of 
fortune,  this  power  to  sleep  quietly  in  the  boat 
when  the  storm  is  raging,  belongs  truly  to  no  one 
but  the  man  whose  faith  is  stayed  on  God.  The 
man  who  has  no  faith  is  tossed  about  by  every 
wind;  he  is  vexed  by  fears  and  misgivings.  He 
looks  into  the  impenetrable  future,  and,  as  he 
stands  on  the  verge  of  the  unknown,  he  trembles, 
if  he  thinks  at  all.  He  does  not  know  what  the 
days  will  bring,  but  he  knows  very  well  that  they 
are  sure  to  bring  pain  and  sorrow  and  surprise  and 
death.  He  knows  that  he  will  one  day  have  to 
leave  those  whom  he  loves — he  will  leave  them,  or 
they  will  leave  him,  and  go  away  to  the  silent  land. 
His  heart  is  disquieted  by  anxiety  and  fear — fear  of 
the  coming  days,  fear  of  the  coming  night,  when 
he  shall  work  no  more. 

But  how  will  those  doubts  and  fears  be  met  by 
the  man  who  believes  in  God  ?  When  they  smite 
him,  they  will  not  be  able  to  hurl  him  to  the 
ground,  for,  in  the  profoundly  personal  language 
of  the  Bible,  he  knows  that  the  Lord  will  hold  him 
up.    He  says  to  his  heart,  "  Nevertheless  I  am  con^ 


198       THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

tinually  with  thee,  nevertheless  Thou  art  continu- 
ally with  me."  He  is  content  with  God,  and  he 
knows  that,  in  some  mysterious  way,  his  God  is 
working  all  things  together  for  his  good.  In  the 
same  night  in  which  he  is  betrayed,  he  is  able  to 
give  thanks,  because  he  knows  his  life  is  always  in 
the  hands  of  his  Father.  "Peace  I  leave  with  you," 
said  Jesus, — with  you  who  believe  in  God,  and  who 
believe  also  in  Me.  And  this  was  no  vain  word. 
He  who  spoke  of  this  peace  knew  well  whereof  He 
spoke.  When  face  to  face  with  cunning  and  un- 
scrupulous controversialists,  when  confronted  with 
all  the  majesty  of  imperial  Rome,  when  cruel  men 
were  taunting  Him  in  His  dying  agony,  He  was 
always  quiet  and  sure  of  Himself,  because  He  was 
sure  of  the  Father. 

The  only  truly  steadfast  character  is  that  which  is 
rooted  in  God.  It  is  one  thing  for  a  man  to  steel 
himself  against  the  assaults  of  what  he  calls  fate  : 
a  very  different  thing  it  is  to  accept  the  discipline 
that  comes  with  the  belief  that  it  works  out  a 
gracious  purpose.  Then  whatever  be  the  experi- 
ence through  which  he  may  have  to  pass,  he  will 
believe  that  it  is  good  for  him  to  be  there,  that  that 
place  is  to  him  a  veritable  house  of  God  and  a  gate 
of  heavenA 


BY  THE   WATERS   OF   REST 


BY  THE   WATERS   OF   REST 

"The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd" 

The  twenty-third  Psalm  is  a  song  which  will 
live  while  the  world  lasts;  for  though  it  came  from 
an  Oriental  heart  and  is  expressed  in  terms  of 
Oriental  experience,  it  deals  with  the  deep  things 
of  life  with  a  simplicity  so  noble  that  it  touches 
the  heart  of  every  generation. 

The  singer  of  this  sweet  song  is  one  who  has 
travelled  far  on  life's  way,  and  his  path  has  not 
always  been  bright  or  smooth.  He  knows  that  there 
are  sunny  nooks  and  corners,  that  life  is  not  all  a 
wilderness,  but  that  there  are  bright  patches  of 
green  where  for  a  brief  noontide  hour  one  may  lie 
down  and  be  happy.  He  knows  that  its  thirst  is 
not  such  as  cannot  be  slaked,  for  a  gracious  Provid- 
ence has  caused  the  waters  to  bubble  up  and  run 
through  it,  and  that  by  the  banks  of  its  restful 
waters  a  man  may  quench  that  thirst  and  rest  his 
weariness  awhile.  But  he  knows,  too,  that  life  is 
not  all  pastures  of  greenness  and  waters  of  rest; 
for  has  he  not  had  to  tread  many  a  dark  way,  and 

walk  through  ravines  where  the  sun  never  shone, 

201 


202       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

and  in  whose  gloomy  recesses  there  lurked  dangers 
from  robbers  and  beasts?  Life  has  been  a 
checkered  experience,  but  throughout  it  all  one 
thing  has  been  very  real  to  him  :  he  has  always 
been  sure  of  God.  In  his  own  eyes,  he  is  nothing 
but  a  poor,  silly  sheep,  hungering  for  the  green 
and  beautiful  pastures,  thirsting  for  the  refreshing 
waters,  and  prone  to  walk  upon  devious  paths  of 
his  own ;  but  as  the  sheep  was  guided  and  defended 
by  the  human  shepherd,  so  was  he  guided  and  de- 
fended by  that  Shepherd  Divine,  whose  care  was 
unceasing,  and  whose  mighty  love  would  be  with 
him,  as  he  felt,  "throughout  the  length  of  days." 
He  "brings  the  soul  back,"  brings  it  home,  leads 
it  from  its  crooked  paths,  and  sets  it  upon  his  own 
"straight  paths" — paths  which  lead  straight  to  the 
peace  of  the  fold ;  and  to  all  this  He  is  pledged  by 
His  own  name.  The  sheep  can  count  upon  the 
Shepherd.  He  must  be  true  to  them,  for  He  must 
be  true  to  Himself.  He  does  it  all  "for  His  own 
name's  sake." 

And  again,  men  need  more  than  food  and  water. 
In  the  strange  pilgrimage  that  we  call  life  there 
are  dark  spots  where  lurk  beasts  and  men,  danger 
and  death.  So  what  we  need  is  One  who  is  not 
only  kind,  but  strong;  and  this  the  psalmist  found 
in  the  gracious  God  who  was  the  Shepherd  of  his 
life.  "Yes,"  he  says,  "though  I  go  through  the 
valley  of  the  deep  dark  shadow,  even  there  I  am 


BY  THE   WATERS   OF  REST  203 

safe,  and  I  walk  through  it  with  a  fearless  heart. 
I  fear  no  evil ;  for  Thou  art  with  me."  Mark  how 
the  Hebrew  word  for  "thou"  lifts  itself  sharply 
out  of  the  sentence,  and  note  the  strong  sense  of 
God — that  great  Shepherd-God  who  loves  and 
defends  His  silly  sheep.  "Thou  art  with  me" — 
the  shepherd  with  the  sheep.  How  very  sure 
this  singer  must  have  felt  of  God,  and  of  His 
power  to  defend  him  !  For  look  !  in  those  kind 
hands  of  His  he  sees  the  rod  and  the  staff — the 
rod  on  which  He  leans  and  with  which  He 
brings  the  sheep  to  Himself,  and  the  staff  with 
the  hard  wood  and  the  great  sturdy  knots  for 
beating  off  and  braining,  if  need  be,  the  wild 
beasts.  Here  is  a  shepherd  who  can  not  only 
love  but  defend,  and  whose  defence  brings  to  the 
poor  psalmist's  weak  life  a  sense  of  splendid 
consolation;  "for  they" — as  he  points  with  pride 
to  the  rod  and  staff — "it  is  they  that  comfort  me." 
But,  after  all,  the  psalmist  is  more  than  a  silly 
sheep.  In  his  touchingly  simple  words,  "  Them 
art  with  me,"  he  has  hinted  that  he  is  a  friend  of 
God;  and  in  the  second  division  of  the  psalm  we 
see  him  pursued  by  the  enemy  and  the  avenger  of 
blood,  finding  refuge  and  peace,  hospitality  and 
safety,  within  the  tent  of  his  shepherd  host.  Once 
inside  the  tent,  he  is  temporarily  safe.  The 
enemies  may  glare  at  him  with  their  fierce  and 
cruel  eyes,  but  the  law  of  the  desert  will  not  let 


204       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

them  touch  him.  And  he  not  only  finds  shelter, 
but  hospitality;  for  this  wondrous  host  takes  pity 
upon  the  panting  man  who  has  sought  the  shelter 
of  his  tent.  He  anoints  his  head  with  oil,  before 
him  he  spreads  his  table  of  good  things,  and  he 
gives  him  with  liberal  hands,  for  his  cup  runneth 
over.  "Come  unto  me,"  He  seems  to  say,  "and 
sup  with  me — thou  with  me  and  I  with  thee." 
What  a  meal !  where  the  Lord  sets  the  table  with 
His  own  hands,  and  the  poor  hunted  man  feels 
himself  safe  and  happy,  while  the  enemy  stands  at 
the  tent-door  and  dare  not  lay  a  finger  upon  him  ! 

A  hunted  man?  Yes;  he  is  hunted,  and  we  are 
all  hunted,  by  the  goodness  of  God.  Note  the 
strong,  fierce  word  pursue — the  very  word  used 
of  the  pursuit  of  the  enemy  in  battle.  It  is  as  if 
God's  love  were  so  eager  to  find  the  man  that  it 
was  determined  to  run  him  down.  Look !  there 
they  are,  two  blessed  and  gentle  figures,  love 
and  pity,  angels  twain,  on  the  heels  of  every 
man,  running  and  resolved  to  find  him.  And 
when  they  find  him,  and  bring  him  into  the  quiet 
tent,  as  the  guest  of  God,  is  it  any  wonder  that 
he  longs  to  dwell  there  "throughout  the  length  of 
days  "  ? 

It  is  very  beautiful  to  think  that  this  psalm  is 
not  a  prayer.  The  psalmist  is  too  sure  of  God 
to  pray  for  these  things.  He  speaks  of  things 
whereof     he     knows,     he     tells     of     things     that 


BY  THE   WATERS   OF   REST  205 

he  has  seen.  He  has  himself  lain  down  by  the 
green  grass,  and  quieted  his  heart  by  the  waters  of 
rest,  and  he  knew  that  it  was  his  Shepherd-God 
who  had  brought  him  there.  He  had  walked 
through  dark  valleys  with  a  fearless  heart,  be- 
cause he  knew  that  the  Shepherd  was  strong  and 
could  beat  off  any  foe  that  might  come  upon  him 
in  the  dark.  So  he  does  not  pray:  "O  Lord,  be 
Thou  my  Shepherd,  and  let  me  never  want :  by 
the  green  pastures  do  Thou  lead  me,  and  guide 
me  to  the  waters  of  rest,  and  bring  my  soul  back 
and  cause  me  to  walk  in  paths  that  are  straight  for 
Thy  name's  sake.  Yea,  and  when  I  walk  through 
the  valley  of  the  deep  shadow,  may  I  fear  no 
evil :  be  Thou  Thyself  with  me,  and  may  Thy  rod 
and  Thy  staff  be  my  comfort.  Do  Thou  spread  a 
table  before  me  in  the  presence  of  my  foes,  and 
may  my  cup  run  over.  And  let  Thy  pity  and 
Thy  love  follow  hard  after  me  all  the  days  of  my 
life,  and  may  I  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for 
ever."  That  would  be  a  beautiful  prayer;  but  the 
psalmist  does  not  thus  pray,  for  he  knows  that 
Jehovah  is  all  this  to  him,  and  more :  and  he 
sings  over  the  sweet  song  to  his  own  heart,  for  he 
is  very  sure  of  his  Shepherd-God. 

How  much  more,  too,  this  psalm  means  to  us 
than  it  could  mean  to  the  psalmist !  For  since 
Jesus  came,  we  have  seen  the  good  Shepherd  be- 
come bone  of  our  bone  and  flesh  of  our  flesh,  and 


206       THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

take  His  place  beside  us,  to  watch  and  guide  and 
feed  His  silly  sheep.  It  is  said  that  in  Greek  in- 
scriptions discovered  in  the  East,  one  sometimes 
finds  an  Old  Testament  text,  with  the  name  of 
Christ  substituted  for  that  of  Jehovah  or  the  Lord. 
And  surely  this  Christian  instinct  needs  no 
apology.  So  let  us  put  the  name  of  Jesus  into  this 
dear  old  psalm,  and  see  how  His  presence  fills 
it  with  vividness  and  power.  "Jesus  is  my 
Shepherd :  I  shalsl  want  for  nothing.  By  the 
green  pastures  Jesus  feeds  me  day  by  day,  and  to 
the  waters  of  rest  He  guides  me.  Jesus  brings 
back  my  soul,  back  from  death  and  self  to  life 
and  God.  He  leads  me  by  paths  that  are  straight 
for  His  own  name's  sake,  because  His  nature 
and  His  name  are  love,  and  to  this  He  is  pledged. 
Yes,  and  when  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
deep  shadow — valley  of  humiliation  or  sorrow  or 
death — I  fear  no  evil,  for  Jesus  is  with  me  :  with 
His  kindly  crook  and  His  strong  staff  He  is  a 
comfort  to  me.  It  is  Jesus  who  spreads  His  table 
before  me  in  the  presence  of  my  enemies — the  sins 
and  the  sorrows  that  make  life  so  hard  and  sweep 
it  so  fiercely;  and  it  is  Jesus  who  fills  my  cup  to 
overflowing.  Yes,  and  this  Jesus  who  is  my 
Shepherd  and  my  host  will  never  forsake  me,  for 
His  love  and  His  pity  will  pursue  me  all  the  days 
of  my  life,  and  in  His  father's  house,  where  the 
beautiful  mansions  are,  I  will  dwell  for  ever." 


BY  THE   WATERS   OF  REST  207 

"  The  King  of  love  my  Shepherd  is, 

Whose  goodness  faileth  never; 
I  nothing  lack  if  I  am  his, 

And  he  is  mine,  for  ever. 
And  so  through  all  the  length  of  days 

Thy  goodness  faileth  never  ; 
Good  Shepherd,  may  I  sing  thy  praise 

Within  thy  house  for  ever!" 

"Throughout  the  length  of  days:"  what  a 
wonderful  phrase !  Is  it  the  length  of  days  in 
this  earthly  life  of  ours?  Perhaps  originally  it 
meant  no  more  than  this;  but  surely  it  is  more. 
For  to  one  who  knows  God  to  be  the  Shepherd  of 
his  life,  the  valley  of  the  deep  shadow  will  only 
lead  from  the  green  pastures  and  the  quiet  waters 
of  earth  to  the  pastures  more  green  and  the  waters 
more  quiet  of  heaven.  For  this  Jesus  of  ours  has 
Himself  been  through  the  valley  of  the  deepest 
shadow,  and  He  came  out  on  the  other  side,  and 
said:  "Peace  be  unto  you!"  Shall  we  not  then 
take  heart,  as  we  yield  ourselves  to  the  guidance  of 
our  Shepherd,  who  is  good  and  wise  and  strong, 
to  whom  belong  the  pastures  on  this  side  of  death 
and  the  pastures  on  that?  And  so  throughout 
the  length  of  days  we  shall  praise  Him — all  our 
days  in  the  world  that  now  is,  and  then  in  the 
world   everlasting. 


THE    FAILURE   OF   SUCCESS 


THE   FAILURE   OF   SUCCESS 

"  I  pray  thee,  have  me  excused  " 

The  tragedy  of  suffering  is  often  terrible,  but  it 
is  as  nothing  to  the  tragedy  of  success.  Not  indeed 
that  all  success  is  tragic,  but  perhaps  it  would  be 
true  to  say  that  all  success  is  at  least  dangerous, 
and  most  of  it  tragic.  It  is  always  a  menace  to 
the  higher  life,  and  often  its  destruction.  And  so 
the  quest  for  it  is  one  of  the  most  pathetic  things 
in  the  world;  it  is  as  if  a  man  were  to  strive,  by 
every  means  and  with  what  speed  he  may,  to  com- 
pass his  own  ruin. 

This  is  a  hard  saying ;  but  it  was  One  who  knew 
the  awful  possibilities  of  human  life  and  destiny 
who  said  that  a  man  was  nothing  profited  if  he 
gained  the  world  at  the  cost  of  his  soul.  Now  it  is 
easy  for  us  to  lift  ourselves  lightly  over  the  terrors 
of  such  a  warning  by  refusing  to  face  with  candour 
and  to  consider  with  patience  all  that  is  implied  in 
the  word  "soul."  This  simple  word  has  a  certain 
theological  and  somewhat  unfamiliar  flavour  to  the 
eager  men  and  women  who  hurry  along  our  busy 
streets.  They  would  not  indeed  deny  that  they 
have  souls,  but  neither  would  they  profess  to  know 

P  2  211 


212       THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

much  about  them.  The  state  of  the  soul — they 
believe  in  their  hearts — has  no  immediate  bearing 
upon  the  business  in  hand.  When  they  have  more 
leisure,  or  when  they  find  themselves  drawing  too 
dangerously  near  the  borders  of  another  world,  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  consider  the  demands  of  the 
soul ;  and  by  the  mysterious  exercise  of  religion,  it 
will  be  saved,  no  doubt,  in  the  end. 

But  what  if  for  "soul  "  we  substitute  the  simpler 
word  "life"?  What  will  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain 
the  whole  world  and  lose  his  life  ?  It  is  impossible 
for  the  dullest  or  the  busiest  to  evade  the  stern  sim- 
plicity of  this  question.  We  all  have  a  life.  We 
know  what  it  is  to  love  it;  and  unless  in  the  throes 
of  madness  or  despair,  we  would  not  lose  it  for  all 
the  world.  Thus  the  statement  of  Jesus  is  true, 
and  every  one  would  meet  it  with  unhesitating 
assent,  even  if  we  read  into  the  word  "life"  the 
lowest  meaning  of  which  that  word  is  capable. 
Clearly  no  one  is  profited  if  he  gain  the  world  and 
lose  his  life;  for  if  he  lost  his  life,  he  would  lose 
the  world  too,  and  then  he  would  be  poor  indeed, 
with  nothing  to  identify  him  in  all  the  universe. 

But  Jesus  means  something  more  awful  even  than 
that.  Life  is  that  spiritual  power  in  man  which 
gives  to  existence  its  supreme  worth,  and  without 
which  a  man  is  no  better  than  his  dog  or  his  horse. 
To  lose  this  spiritual  capacity  is  to  lose  everything; 
and  even  could  he  gain  the  whole  world,  that  would 


THE  FAILURE   OF  SUCCESS  213 

be  but  poor  compensation  for  the  loss  of  all  that 
gives  him  his  right  to  call  himself  a  man.  Of 
course  there  are  multitudes  for  whom  such  a  pros- 
pect has  no  terrors ;  but  it  would  be  well  for  all  such 
to  ask  themselves  whether  there  may  not  come  a 
time  when  they  would  look  back  with  sorrow  upon 
their  empty  lives.  And  how  will  they  care  to  face 
death,  and,  after  that,  the  judgment  ? 

Nothing  tests  a  man  so  surely  as  his  definition  of 
success.  He  loves  best  that  in  which  he  is  most 
anxious  to  succeed;  and  it  is  a  pathetic  testimony 
to  the  externalism  of  our  standards  that  the  men 
most  commonly  called  successful  are  those  whose 
wealth  or  worldly  position  has  dazzled  the  eyes  of 
the  multitude.  But  is  it  not  very  plain,  upon  reflec- 
tion, that  the  only  successful  man  is  the  man  who 
has  most  triumphantly  done  the  real  business  of  his 
life?  And  here  we  are  face  to  face  with  the  ques- 
tion which  is  ultimate  for  all  of  us  :  What  is  the 
real  business  of  life?  Is  it  not  just  to  make  the 
most  and  the  best  of  ourselves,  and  the  most 
through  the  best  ?  In  a  letter  to  a  friend,  Carlyle 
happily  defined  success  as  "growing  to  your  full 
spiritual  stature  under  God's  sky." 

Yet  life  is  to-day  so  departmental,  and  its  activi- 
ties are  so  subdivided,  that  hardly  any  one  dreams 
of  aspiring  to  this  spiritual  stature,  or  of  endeavour- 
ing to  develop  his  nature  on  all  its  sides ;  and  those 
who  dream  do  little  more  than  dream.     The  neces- 


214       THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

sity  of  providing  for  ourselves  and  for  those  whom 
we  love,  develops  our  nature  along  certain  restricted 
lines,  and  with  this  we  soon  learn  to  content  our- 
selves; while  all  the  time,  other  and  often  nobler 
powers  within  us  are  slumbering  or  dying.  And 
though  we  walk  about  the  world  with  bright  and 
happy  faces  and  all  seems  well  with  us,  it  may  be 
very  far  from  well.  The  spirit  within  may  be 
shrunken  and  withered — a  piteous  and  ghastly  sight 
for  those  who  have  the  eyes  to  see. 

Under  modern  conditions,  success,  as  commonly 
understood,  lies  in  doing  one  thing  well ;  and  it  is 
sadly  true  that  most  men  contrive  to  do  one  thing 
well  by  neglecting  things  of  at  least  as  much  im- 
portance as  those  which  they  consider.  The  atti- 
tude of  ordinary  men  to  the  highest  things  has  been 
immortalized  by  Jesus  in  His  parable  of  the  supper. 
It  was  a  great  supper  this — worthy  of  so  generous 
a  host — and  guests  of  all  sorts  were  invited.  But  as 
soon  as  the  table  was  spread  and  they  had  nothing 
to  do  but  come,  they  all  began  to  excuse  themselves. 
One  had  to  see  to  his  cattle,  another  to  his  fields, 
another  to  his  home;  and  so  they  allowed  business 
and  pleasure  to  shut  them  out  of  the  banqueting- 
hall.  They  cared  more  for  the  oxen  and  the  land 
than  for  the  great  King  who  had  graciously  asked 
them  to  come  in  to  Him  and  sup  with  Him;  and 
their  terrible,  but  reasonable,  doom  was  that  they 
should  never  taste  of  His  supper.     If  they  should 


THE   FAILURE   OF  SUCCESS  215 

come,  they  would  find  the  doors  shut,  and  they 
would  be  left  in  the  darkness  with  the  weeping  and 
the  wailing. 

The  great  supper  is  spread  to-day  for  all  who  will 
come  and  partake  of  it.  The  Lord  openeth  His 
hand  and  is  willing  to  satisfy  the  desires  of  every 
living  thing;  but  for  the  highest  things  of  all  there 
is  but  little  desire.  The  cattle  and  the  land,  the 
office  and  the  home,  the  buying  and  the  selling,  the 
planning  and  the  scheming,  are  more  to  us  than 
fellowship  at  the  same  table  with  the  great  and  the 
good  and  the  Lord  of  all.  We  cheat  ourselves  of 
our  birthright,  and  the  paltry  success  we  may  win 
in  our  profession  is  bought  with  a  great  and  terrible 
price.  "Born  a  man  and  died  a  grocer" — some 
such  epigram  would  be  but  too  truthful  a  summary 
of  many  a  life-story;  born  to  a  splendid  heritage, 
born  with  powers  of  large  possibilities,  whose 
proper  cultivation  would  have  brought  to  their  pos- 
sessor knowledge  and  influence  and  joy — and  died 
with  most  of  those  powers  strangled  by  the  mur- 
derous routine  of  professional  life. 

Doubtless  every  man's  profession  is  a  divine 
school  of  discipline.  It  is  by  doing  its  duties  that 
he  develops  his  capacities  and  attains  to  any  power 
that  is  ever  his.  But  to  most  men  it  proves  a  prison 
as  well  as  a  school.  They  can  see  little  of  the  great 
and  beautiful  world  beyond  the  cruel  bars  of  their 
window,  and  they  seldom  travel  beyond  the  court- 


216       THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

yard.  In  allowing  our  work  to  develop  us,  we 
ought  not  to  allow  it  unduly  to  restrict  us ;  for  all 
things  are  ours.  The  music  and  the  art  and  the 
literature  and  the  beauty  of  the  world  are  all  for 
us.  Could  any  folly  be  more  tragic  than  to  stand 
in  the  presence  of  all  these  things,  and  say,  "I  pray 
thee,  have  me  excused  "  ?  Most  men  go  to  their 
graves  without  ever  having  known  how  much  was 
theirs,  how  large  and  glorious  the  world  is,  or  how 
rich  and  happy  their  life  might  have  been.  In  their 
exclusive  attention  to  their  business,  profession  or 
home,  they  commit  a  slow  intellectual  or  spiritual 
suicide ;  and  this  is  one  of  the  ways  in  which  a  man 
may  gain  the  world  and  lose  his  soul. 

The  famous  words  of  Darwin  should  be  taken  to 
heart  by  those  who  feel  that  they  are  giving  their 
exclusive  affection  to  the  work  of  their  lives,  how- 
ever important  and  honourable  that  may  be.  "Up 
to  the  age  of  thirty,"  he  says,  "or  beyond  it,  poetry 
of  many  kinds,  such  as  the  works  of  Milton,  Gray, 
Byron,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge  and  Shelley,  gave 
me  great  pleasure,  and  even  as  a  schoolboy  I  took 
intense  delight  in  Shakespeare,  especially  in  the 
historical  plays.  .  .  .  Pictures  gave  me  consider- 
able, and  music  very  great,  delight.  But  now  for 
many  years  I  cannot  endure  to  read  a  line  of  poetry. 
I  have  tried  lately  to  read  Shakespeare,  and  found 
it  so  intolerably  dull  that  it  nauseated  me.  I  have 
also  almost  lost  my  taste  for  pictures  or  music.  •  .  . 


THE  FAILURE   OF  SUCCESS  217 

I  retain  some  taste  for  fine  scenery,  but  it  does  not 
cause  me  the  exquisite  delight  which  it  formerly 
did.  .  .  .  My  mind  seems  to  have  become  a  kind  of 
machine  for  grinding  general  laws  out  of  large  col- 
lections of  facts.  ...  If  I  had  to  live  my  life  again, 
I  would  have  made  a  rule  to  read  some  poetry  and 
listen  to  some  music  at  least  once  every  week;  for 
perhaps  the  parts  of  my  brain  now  atrophied  would 
thus  have  been  kept  active  through  use.  The  loss 
of  these  tastes  is  a  loss  of  happiness,  and  may  pos- 
sibly be  injurious  to  the  intellect  and  more  probably 
to  the  moral  character,  by  enfeebling  the  emotional 
part  of  our  nature." 

Over  certain  minds  the  claims  of  trade  and  com- 
merce exercise  a  powerful  and  sometimes  a  deadly 
fascination ;  but  this  touching  confession  makes  it 
plain  that  it  is  just  as  possible  for  those  engaged 
more  directly  in  the  things  of  the  mind  and  spirit 
to  limit  the  fulness  of  their  manhood  and  to  deaden 
themselves  to  interests  that  might  have  been  a 
source  both  of  power  and  pleasure.  The  preacher 
who  has  no  mind  for  anything  but  his  sermon,  no 
interest  in  any  form  of  literature  which  he  cannot 
bring  before  his  people  in  the  form  of  exposition  or 
exhortation,  has  committed  a  crime  against  him- 
self, if  not  also  against  them ;  for  he  has  closed  his 
eyes  to  some  of  the  avenues  along  which  God  sends 
truth  to  men.  Literature  is  larger  than  the  sermon, 
and  truth  is  not  confined  to  commentaries.    The 


218       THE   CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

whole  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the  fulness  thereof; 
and  He  has  given  it  all,  and  not  merely  a  fraction 
of  it,  to  the  sons  of  men  and  to  the  preachers  of 
His  word.  The  preacher,  like  other  men,  is  asked 
to  the  great  supper;  and  he  is  tempted,  like  other 
men,  for  professional  reasons,  to  plead,  "I  pray 
thee,  have  me  excused."  But  here,  as  often  else- 
where, it  is  true  that  he  who  excuses,  accuses 
himself. 


BIDDING   GOOD-BYE  TO   GOD 


BIDDING   GOOD-BYE  TO   GOD 

"Go  thy  way  for  this  time" 

What  would  you  think  of  a  man  who  had  plainly- 
heard  the  voice  of  God — heard  it  so  plainly  that  it 
made  him  tremble — and  who  yet  had  the  awful 
courage  to  reply,  "  Go  away  for  the  present.  When 
I  have  a  convenient  season,  I  will  send  for  thee  "  ? 
We  hold  our  breath  at  the  very  thought  of  such 
stupid,  lordly  defiance  of  Almighty  God;  and  then 
we  breathe  more  freely  again  as  we  bethink  our- 
selves that  such  a  thing  could  not  be.  It  could  not 
be?  Nay,  but  it  has  been.  There  was  a  man  who 
rolled  those  very  words  off  his  thoughtless  tongue, 
and  there  are  other  men — have  we  not  ourselves 
been  among  them  ? — who  have  cherished  such 
thoughts  in  our  hearts,  and  sighed  for  God  to  go 
away,  though  the  blasphemous  words  may  never 
actually  have  crossed  our  lips. 

Felix  was  the  man — the  cruel,  the  powerful,  the 

gorgeous  Felix.    Beside  him  is  a  prisoner  speaking 

to  him  with  deadly  earnestness  of  a  judgment  to 

come.     The   voice  is  Paul's,    but   the  words  are 

God's,  and  they  smite  with  terror  into  his  seared 

221 


222       THE   CITY  WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

Roman  conscience.  Paul  is  right,  God  is  right, 
and  Felix  can  stand  it  no  longer.  "Go  away,"  he 
says,  in  a  sudden  access  of  terror.  "Go  away  for 
the  present.  When  I  have  a  convenient  season,  I 
will  send  for  thee."  It  is  to  Paul  that  he  is  speak- 
ing, but  what  are  those  awful  words  but  a  tragic 
farewell  to  God, — the  God  who  was  pleading  with 
him  through  the  mighty  presence  of  Paul  ? 

What  a  prayer!  "O  God!  go  away."  It  is  a 
fearful  thing  to  bid  good-bye  to  God,  but  oh  !  the 
presumption,  the  pathetic,  the  unspeakable  pre- 
sumption, of  expecting  that  the  God  to  whom  we 
have  haughtily  said  good-bye  will  come  back  at 
our  summons,  and  alter  His  plans  to  suit  our 
convenient  season  ! 

We  do  not  indeed  suppose  that  we  ourselves 
could  ever  be  so  haughtily  disobedient  to  the 
heavenly  voice.  If  only  we  could  be  sure  that  a 
voice  was  God's,  we  would  obey  it  swiftly  and 
gladly ;  but  the  pain  of  life  is  that  its  silences  are 
so  long,  and  so  seldom  broken  by  a  voice  which 
we  can  with  confidence  welcome  as  divine.  But 
is  that  voice  so  very  rare  ?  or  is  it  not  rather  that 
we  have  not  schooled  ourselves  to  understand  the 
language  in  which  it  speaks  ?  For  it  sometimes 
speaks  as  a  rising  terror  in  the  heart.  So  it  was 
with  Felix.  His  conscience  was  alarmed  by  the 
vision  of  a  judgment  to  come,  and  in  that  terror 
God  was  speaking  to  him.    That  is  one  of  God's 


BIDDING   GOOD-BYE   TO   GOD  223 

ways  of  speaking  to  men.  When  the  still  small 
voice  would  be  lost  upon  us,  He  will  sometimes 
let  us  hear  the  distant  roll  of  His  judgment  thunder. 
Then  let  us  not  pray  in  our  terror,  "O  God!  go 
Thy  way  for  the  present."  Rather,  let  us  make  our 
peace  with  the  God  of  the  storm,  lest  His  light- 
nings consume  us. 

But  His  voice  is  not  always  terrible;  it  can  be 
gentle  too.  Sometimes  it  is  borne  to  us  upon  the 
breath  of  holy  impulses  or  simple  affections.  But 
whether  that  voice  thrills  us  with  terror  or  with 
sacred  resolve,  it  is  for  us  unhesitatingly  to  obey 
its  promptings.  God  is  with  us  in  such  a  moment, 
laying  His  kindly  hand  upon  our  stubborn  life. 
How  do  we  know  that  He  will  ever  be  with  us 
again  ? 

Procrastination  is  the  secret  of  failure.  A  noble 
thought,  a  holy  resolution,  visits  us.  It  stands 
knocking  at  the  door.  But  it  will  disturb  our  com- 
fort if  we  suffer  it  to  enter  and  possess  our  life, 
and  that  will  not  do.  So  we  give  it  a  courteous 
dismissal.  "Go  thy  way  for  the  present.  When 
I  have  a  convenient  season,  I  will  send  for  thee." 
And  before  that  season  comes,  we  may  have 
reached  some  place  where  there  is  no  repentance, 
though  we  seek  it  carefully  with  tears. 

Warnings  enough  there  come  to  every  man. 
Every  time  we  are  appalled,  like  Felix,  at  the 
thought   of   the  judgment   to  come;   every   terror 


224       THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

that  shakes  our  conscience;  every  funeral  proces- 
sion that  passes  up  the  busy  streets,  with  its  silent 
mockery  of  their  crowded  haste;  every  experience 
that  awes  and  humbles  us, — is  another  voice  of  the 
God  who  loves  us  too  dearly  to  leave  us  alone.  The 
man  who  says  to  such  a  voice,  "Go  thy  way  for 
the  present,"  is  either  a  coward  or  a  fool, — a 
coward  if  he  cannot  bear  to  look  at  those  stern  facts 
with  which  he  will  one  day  have  to  make  his  bed, 
and  a  fool  if  he  supposes  that  the  God  whom  he  is 
deliberately  rejecting  will  come  in  mercy  when  he 
summons  Him.  "When  I  have  a  more  convenient 
season  I  will  send  for  Thee."  Yes,  but  will  He 
come?  He  will  come  indeed,  be  sure  of  that;  but, 
when  He  comes,  He  will  demand  the  uttermost 
farthingt 


A    DESERT    PLACE 


A   DESERT   PLACE 

"Come  apart  into  a  desert  place" 

Few  sentences  in  the  New  Testament  are  more 
pathetic  than  this:  "There  were  many  coming 
and  going,  and  the  apostles  of  Jesus  had  no  leisure 
so  much  as  to  eat."  Jesus  had  sent  them  away  to 
do  their  beneficent  work  upon  the  bodies  and  the 
minds  of  men.  They  had  done  it;  and  now  they 
had  come  back  and  gathered  about  Him  to  tell 
Him  of  all  that  had  befallen  them.  Jesus  listened 
with  an  interest  mingled  with  joy  and  pity.  He 
knew  that  for  the  happy  prosecution  of  the  work  of 
life  men  need  not  only  enthusiasm  but  strength. 
And  so  when  their  tale  is  told,  He  simply  says, 
"Come  by  yourselves  apart  into  a  desert  place,  and 
take  a  little  rest."  And  in  words  of  simple  pathos, 
the  evangelist  adds,  "  For  crowds  were  coming  and 
going,  and  they  had  not  even  a  chance  to  eat." 
So,  at  the  Master's  bidding,  they  entered  a  boat 
and  went  away  to  a  desert  place  apart. 

This  is  indeed  very  touching;  but  the  sequel  is 
more  touching  still.  For  the  kind  wish  of  Jesus 
was  defeated  by  the  importunity  of  the  crowd ;  and 

Q  2  227 


228       THE  CITY   WITH  FOUNDATIONS 

when  they  crossed  to  their  desert  place  where  they 
had  hoped  to  be  by  themselves  apart,  they  found 
the  place  crowded  with  a  waiting  throng  that  had 
hurried  round  the  lake  on  foot.  The  work  had  to 
be  begun  again,  and  the  repose  seemed  further  off 
than  ever.  In  the  attitude  of  Jesus  to  this  new  and 
unexpected  obligation,  we  get  a  glimpse  into  the 
depths  of  His  great  heart.  An  ordinary  man  would 
have  resented  the  appearance  of  a  crowd  which  so 
effectively  dispelled  all  hope  of  repose  and  deprived 
Him  and  His  of  the  rest  they  so  sorely  needed. 
But  not  so  Jesus.  "When  He  landed  and  saw  the 
great  crowds,  He  had  pity  upon  them  and  began 
to  teach  them  many  things."  Those  who  had  come 
to  Him  in  such  a  way  He  could  in  no  wise  cast  out. 
The  seeming  annoyance  He  accepted  as  a  divine 
opportunity,  and  tired  and  disappointed  as  He  and 
His  disciples  were,  He  gladly  and  uncomplainingly 
began  again  the  great  work  which  His  Father  had 
given  Him  to  do. 

It  is  worth  pondering  that  Jesus  deliberately 
sought  for  Himself  and  His  disciples  to  escape 
from  the  crowd.  It  is  also  worth  pondering  that 
that  escape  proved  impossible.  In  such  a  world  as 
ours  we  are  sometimes  compelled  by  circumstances, 
or  by  regard  for  some  high  moral  law,  or  for  the 
sake  of  a  needy  brother,  to  act  against  our  better 
knowledge.  We  know  very  well  that  we  must 
spare  ourselves,  or  our  strength — and  to  that  ex- 


A   DESERT  PLACE  229 

tent,  our  efficiency — will  be  impaired.  Yet  the 
circumstances  of  our  life  so  arrange  themselves 
that  to  spare  ourselves  is  impossible ;  and  so  long 
as  we  have  strength  to  stand  upon  our  feet,  we 
must  go  on  with  our  work.  These  exacting  de- 
mands, which  seem  at  times  so  cruel,  have  no  doubt 
their  high  compensations  both  here  and  hereafter; 
but  while  we  must  learn  the  stern  obligation  of 
service  from  the  willingness  of  Jesus  to  do  what  He 
could  for  the  crowd  at  the  very  time  that  He  so 
yearned  to  be  alone  with  His  disciples,  we  have 
also  to  learn  from  His  desire  that  they  should  go 
apart — and  perhaps  many  of  us  need  this  lesson 
still  more — how  indispensable  is  rest  and  loneli- 
ness to  all  continued  and  effective  work. 

It  is  not  without  interest  that  the  words  for 
"come"  and  "rest"  which  Jesus  used  in  His  invit- 
ation to  the  disciples,  are  the  same  as  those  in  which 
He  gave  to  all  that  laboured  and  were  heavy  laden 
that  other  invitation  which  has  rung  as  an  evangel 
throughout  the  centuries:  "Come  unto  me  and  I 
will  give  you  rest."  Perhaps  here,  too,  in  the 
suggestion  that  they  go  to  a  desert  place,  there  is 
a  similar  undertone.  Not  merely  in  the  desert 
place  will  the  inspiration  be;  for  Jesus  is  to  be 
there  too.  Nor  is  it  only  through  going  apart  by 
themselves  that  they  will  renew  their  strength ;  for 
they  are  to  go  apart  with  Him.  But  all  the  same, 
the  passage  sounds  an  immortal  warning  to  men 


230       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

who  are  consumed  by  zeal  for  the  work  to  which 
they  are  giving  their  lives.  The  strongest  and  the 
most  zealous  need  to  go  apart  into  a  desert  place 
and  rest  awhile.  They  need  it  for  their  own  sake; 
they  need  it  for  their  work's  sake.  Much  of  the 
work  has  to  be  done  "in  the  midst  of  the  street"; 
and  we  can  only  possess  our  souls  there  in  patience 
and  peace  if  we  have  rested  for  awhile  apart  in  the 
desert  place. 

"They  had  no  leisure  so  much  as  to  eat."  There 
lies  the  real  pathos  of  the  situation — and  the  peril, 
too.  If  a  man  has  no  leisure  to  eat;  if  he  is  com- 
pelled, as  business  and  professional  men  often  are, 
to  dine  irregularly,  nature,  which  is  just,will  make 
him  pay  the  penalty.  Sooner  or  later  his  strength 
and  elasticity  will  be  impaired;  the  man  and  his 
work  will  suffer.  In  the  deeper  sense,  too,  this 
holds.  For  that  eating  by  which  we  sustain  the 
physical  nature  is  a  symbol  of  the  assimilative 
effort  by  which  we  sustain  the  higher  nature  of 
mind  or  spirit ;  and  if  we  have  no  leisure  to  partake 
of  this  food,  to  enrich  our  minds  with  new  ideas 
and  refresh  our  spirits  at  the  well-springs  of  devo- 
tion, then  in  the  long  run  our  work  cannot  fail  to  be 
languid  and  poor.  There  is  no  alternative.  We 
cannot  give  what  we  do  not  have.  We  cannot  feed 
others  by  starving  ourselves.  The  teacher,  the 
preacher,  the  physician,  the  writer,  all  who  would 
helpfully   touch   the  lives  of  others,    must  know 


A   DESERT   PLACE  231 

something  of  the  desert  place.  If  they  are  always 
with  the  crowd,  they  will  slowly,  but  surely,  lose 
their  power  of  helping  it. 

It  was  to  satisfy  two  needs  that  Jesus  urged  upon 
His  disciples  this  escape  from  the  crowd — the  need 
of  aloofness  and  the  need  of  rest.  First,  "Come 
by  yourselves  apart."  The  disciples  had  no  doubt 
enjoyed  some  measure  of  success  in  their  mission, 
and  they  may  have  been  a  little  elated  by  their 
temporary  popularity.  At  any  rate,  it  was  now  time 
for  them  to  go  apart  by  themselves,  away  from  the 
disturbing  illusions  of  the  crowd,  to  a  desert  place 
where  they  could  view  themselves  and  their  work 
in  truer  perspective.  A  crowd  is  a  terrible  thing 
and  a  good  man  may  well  fear  it.  He  will  fear  its 
false  standards  of  success.  He  will  fear  lest  he 
come  to  measure  his  worth  by  the  size  of  his  crowd. 
He  will  fear  lest  he  come  to  care  more  for  their 
applause  than  to  tell  them  the  truth.  Yes,  the 
crowd  is  a  menace  to  a  man's  true  estimate  of  him- 
self ;  and  as  he  loves  his  soul,  he  will  once  in  a 
while  leave  it  all  for  the  desert  place  where  there 
is  little  to  turn  his  head  or  distort  his  vision  of  the 
eternal  things.  "For  my  part,"  said  Stevenson, 
"  I  should  try  to  secure  some  part  of  every  day  for 
meditation,  above  all,  in  the  early  morning  and  the 
open  air."  Apart  from  men,  and,  above  all,  in  the 
healthful  presence  of  the  primeval  things,  the  sky, 
the  mountains,  the  sea,  we  can  look  ourselves  more 


232       THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

honestly  in  the  face,  lift  up  our  hearts  to  God,  and 
give  our  panting  lives  a  chance. 

Again,  besides  going  apart,  Jesus  bade  His  dis- 
ciples take  a  little  rest.  The  crowd  has  to  be  feared 
for  its  power  to  lower  our  ideals,  but  also  for  its 
power  to  exhaust  our  strength  and  impair  our  real 
efficiency.  This  is  the  terrible  penalty  of  popular- 
ity, that  it  deprives  its  victim  of  the  opportunity  of 
sustaining  his  power  upon  its  highest  levels.  Day 
by  day  his  life  is  remorselessly  eaten  into.  His  mes- 
sage becomes  first  familiar  and  then  commonplace, 
because  the  crowd  will  not  let  him  do  his  best. 
There  is  something  pathetic  as  well  as  inspiring 
about  the  numberless  meetings  which  some 
churches  contrive  to  organize.  They  are  in  one 
sense  a  sign  of  vitality;  dead  men  do  not  hold 
meetings.  But  they  are  also  perhaps  a  sign  of 
that  restlessness  which  finds  its  satisfaction  any- 
where but  in  the  desert  place.  It  is  often  just  the 
way  in  which  good  people  take  their  dissipation. 

And  besides  fostering  in  them  a  somewhat  rest- 
less and  superficial  type  of  spiritual  life,  it  imposes 
a  burden  almost  too  heavy  to  be  borne  upon  the 
unfortunate  men  who,  several  times  a  week,  are 
called  upon  to  address  such  gatherings.  It  is  no 
doubt  possible  to  speak  many  times  a  month  for 
many  years  together  with  real  power  and  efficiency. 
The  thing  has  been  done,  though  one  may  ques- 
tion whether  it  has  been  done  often.     But  in  any 


A    DESERT   PLACE  233 

case  it  can  only  be  done  well  by  leaving  the  crowd 
and  resting  awhile.  To  the  highest  form  of  work 
rest  is  an  absolute  necessity.  No  man  who  knows 
anything  of  the  conditions  of  his  noblest  work  or 
the  limits  of  human  endurance  could  doubt  for  one 
moment  that  the  blessed  Sabbath  day  is  a  divine 
institution.  Its  recurrence  is  a  perpetual  reminder 
of  the  need  of  going  apart  and  resting  awhile.  The 
strength  that  is  not  renewed  will  soon  become 
weakness. 

When  Pere  Didon  had  been  banished  to  Corsica, 
Pasteur  wrote  to  him  :  "You  will  come  back  with 
your  soul  still  loftier,  your  thought  more  firm, 
more  disengaged  from  earthly  things."  Most  of 
the  world's  best  work  has  been  done  by  men  who 
prepared  for  it  in  some  desert  place.  Jesus  began 
His  own  ministry  with  a  season  in  the  wilderness, 
and  often  afterwards  he  sought  the  loneliness  of  the 
mountain  side.  Paul  had  his  Arabia,  and  John 
Bunyan  his  prison.  The  street  has  its  place  in  the 
religious  life,  but  so  also  has  the  desert.  He  will 
work  best  for  the  crowd  who  has  rested  in  the 
wilderness.  And  not  less  needful  than  when  first 
it  was  spoken  is  this  healing  word  of  Jesus  to  the 
crowded  and  distracted  lives  of  men  to-day  :  "Come 
by  yourselves  apart  into  a  desert  place  and  rest 
yourselves  awhile." 


IN   THE    MIDST   OF   THE   STREET 


IN   THE   MIDST   OF  THE   STREET 

What  would  you  expect  to  find  in  the  midst  of 
the  street  ?  The  din  of  endless  traffic,  and  the 
hurrying  of  eager  feet.  This  at  any  rate;  but  there 
is  more.  On  the  great  streets  of  great  cities  a 
thousand  interests  and  passions  concentrate  them- 
selves. There  the  rich  and  the  poor  meet  and  pass, 
and  in  their  meeting  one  of  the  great  problems 
of  the  modern  world  passes  before  us  incarnate. 
There  the  tragedies  and  comedies  of  life  jostle  each 
other  unsuspectingly.  Innocence  walks  by  the  side 
of  guilt.  The  deadliest  sins  masquerade  before 
our  faces,  sometimes  with  stealthy  tread,  sometimes 
brazen  and  unashamed.  Ambition,  hypocrisy, 
poverty,  cunning,  vice,  and  much  else  that  is 
unlovely  and  degrading,  might  be  seen  any  day 
in  the  midst  of  the  street  by  one  who  could  read 
beneath  the  lines  upon  the  faces. 

But  is  that  all  ?  If  that  were  indeed  all,  civiliza- 
tion would  be  a  tragic  thing,  and  history  had  better 
speedily  close  in  some  grand  catastrophe.  If  that 
were  all,  then  Christ  has  come  in  vain,  and  religion 
has  drained  its  lifeblood  for  nothing.  No,  there  is 
more  in  the  midst  of  the  street  than  that.    The  man 

237 


238       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

who  has  not  yet  learned  the  fatal  art  of  cynicism 
will  find  there  much  to  confirm  his  faith  in  the 
potential  nobleness  of  human  nature.  If  he  can 
read  aright  the  faces  that  pass  before  him,  he  would 
see  many  a  simple  heroism,  many  a  pain  and 
sorrow  bravely  borne,  many  a  sacrifice  readily 
made  with  no  hope  of  compensation.  It  is  very 
possible  to  misread  the  significance  of  the  endless 
panorama  in  the  midst  of  the  street.  It  is  very 
certain  that  if  we  do  not  look  upon  it  with  generous 
eyes,  we  shall  not  see  one  half  of  its  meaning  and 
beauty. 

But  was  there  ever  half  so  beautiful  a  street  as 
that  seen  by  the  aged  eyes  of  the  seer  of  Patmos? 
In  a  loving  description  of  the  new  Jerusalem,  the 
city  that  descended  from  God  out  of  heaven,  he 
noticed  that  in  the  midst  of  the  street  there  was  a 
river,  and  on  either  side  of  the  river  there  were 
trees — trees  of  life.  A  tree  in  the  street !  And  what 
a  tree  !  Ever  young  and  fair,  bearing  fruit  all  the 
year  round,  and  dressed  in  leaves  which  were  able 
to  heal  the  sick  and  torn  nations  of  the  world  as 
soon  as  they  entered  this  street  of  the  city  of  God 
and  plucked  thereof.  Beautiful  street  of  a  beautiful 
city  !  If  only  our  unbelieving  eyes  could  catch  a 
sight  of  such  a  street  with  the  magic,  beneficent 
tree  in  the  midst  of  it,  how  eagerly  we  too  would 
run  to  pluck  its  leaves  and  heal  our  distracted 
hearts  I 


IN   THE   MIDST   OF  THE   STREET       239 

But  what  is  it  that  keeps  us  back  ?  Why  do  we 
hot  see  the  city?  And  why  do  we  not  eat  of  the 
fruit  of  this  tree  of  life?  Is  it  because  they  are 
so  far  away  ?  Perhaps  they  are  not  so  far  as  we 
think.  For  this  city,  remember,  is  not  in  the 
heavens;  it  is  a  city  that  came  down  out  of  heaven 
upon  the  earth.  Call  it,  if  you  like,  a  dream  city; 
but  it  is  a  dream  of  this  world,  and  not  of  the  skies. 
For,  note,  there  are  nations  to  be  healed.  The 
work  of  the  world  is  not  yet  done.  Its  nations  are 
sick;  the  mind  and  the  heart  are  not  sound;  they 
need  healing.  And  they  find  it  on  the  leaves  of 
the  tree  in  the  street  of  the  city  of  God.  So  it 
would  seem  as  if  the  vision  that  sustained  the  aged 
heart  of  this  true  seer  was  that  of  some  heavenly 
city  in  this  world.  True,  there  lies  upon  this  city 
a  wondrous  light,  such  as  never  was  on  sea  or 
land ;  and  no  city  that  has  ever  been  built  by 
human  hands  can  compare  with  it  for  the  nobility 
of  its  inhabitants.  But  it  seems,  after  all,  to  be  a 
city  set  up  upon  the  earth,  inhabited  not  by  spirits 
but  by  living  men,  with  the  living  God  among 
them. 

So,  while  this  is  a  dream,  it  is  not  all  a  dream ;  it 
can  be  made  the  most  practical  of  all  realities.  For, 
surrounded  as  most  of  us  are  by  the  stubborn  and 
often  ungracious  facts  of  city  life,  by  its  fierce 
competitions  and  its  unremitting  strain,  it  is  well 
to  remember  that  the  tree  of  life  is  in  the  midst  of 


240       THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

the  street.  Often  we  are  tempted  to  think  it  is  any- 
where but  there.  A  tree  of  life  in  a  street  which 
rings  with  the  noise  of  business  and  commercial 
rivalries  seems  almost  a  mockery.  Often  we  would 
fain  fly  from  it  all  to  some  lodge  in  the  wilderness 
or  in  the  forest  or  on  the  sea-shore.  Early  man 
imagined  the  tree  of  life  in  a  garden— the  glorious 
garden  of  Paradise;  but  it  is  a  deeper  thought,  as 
it  is  a  later  one,  that  this  tree  is  in  the  midst  of  the 
street,  where  the  men  are. 

Wherever  men  are  gathered  together,  there  is 
some  not  altogether  ignoble  life.  For  the  exist- 
ence of  cities,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  is  a 
recognition,  however  unconscious,  of  the  brother- 
hood of  men  and  of  their  need  of  one  another. 
Every  one  who  is  honestly  working  is  doing  some- 
thing for  that  great  organism  which  we  call 
society;  each,  in  doing  his  own  work,  is  serving 
the  others — it  may  be  unwittingly — and  blessing 
the  whole.  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered 
together  in  the  name  of  Jesus,  there  He  is  in  the 
midst  of  them,  to  bless  them ;  and  where  hundreds 
and  thousands  are  gathered  together  in  the  inter- 
ests of  a  common  civilization,  we  may  well  believe 
that  Jesus  is  not  far  away,  though  there  is  not  a 
little  on  which  He  could  only  look  with  eyes  of 
sorrow.  And  we  may  well  believe  that  there  is  a 
tree  of  life  somewhere  in  the  midst. 

The  inspiration  of  the  street !     Such  a  phrase 


IN  THE   MIDST   OF  THE   STREET       241 

seems  almost  an  absurdity.  The  poets  have,  with 
few  exceptions,  ignored  the  street,  and  sought  their 
inspiration  amid  the  quiet  and  gracious  scenes  of 
nature,  or  in  the  quaint,  simple  life  of  the  country. 
It  has  been  left  to  religion  and  social  philosophy 
to  discover  the  tree  of  life  in  the  midst  of  the  street. 
The  religion  inaugurated  by  Jesus  is  very  much 
more  than  the  saving  of  the  individual  soul ;  it  is 
the  salvation  of  each  for  the  service  of  all.  Is  it 
not  plain,  then,  that  the  concentration  of  the  city 
offers  the  grandest  opportunity  ?  There  it  is  as 
easy  to  reach  and  move  a  hundred  as  elsewhere  to 
touch  one.  There  life  is  most  complicated  and 
interesting.  There  the  problems  are  fiercest  and 
the  need  sorest.  There  opportunities  are  most 
numerous  and  most  easily  secured.  There  thorough 
work  finds  its  most  comprehensive  response  and 
its  most  manifold  reward.  Already,  despite  much 
open  and  secret  corruption,  there  exists  within 
every  city  much  good  and  true  life,  organized  and 
unorganized;  it  is  for  those  who  believe  in  the  city 
of  God  to  deepen  and  strengthen  this  life,  to  con- 
centrate its  scattered  forces,  and  to  plant  it  in  the 
hearts  and  in  the  institutions  where  it  does  not  yet 
exist. 

The  obligations  of  religion  to  the  street  and  to 
all  that  ramified  social  life  which  the  street  implies, 
are  very  great.  Jesus  loved  the  street.  There  were 
indeed  times  when  He  had  to  bid  His  disciples  go 


242       THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

apart  into  a  desert  place  and  rest  awhile ;  but  it  was 
that  they  might  enter  on  their  work  again  with 
strength  renewed.  He  left  the  wilderness  in  which 
He  sojourned  for  a  while  after  the  call  to  His 
ministry,  to  work  among  the  busy  haunts  of  men 
in  the  cities  on  the  shore  of  the  lake  of  Galilee. 
The  city,  its  needs  and  its  redemption,  were  ever 
in  His  thoughts.  He  would  fain  have  gathered  her 
people  together  as  a  hen  gathers  her  brood  under 
her  wings.  He  did  not  shirk  the  responsibilities 
of  the  unlovely  street.  To  him  it  was  not  unlovely ; 
it  was  the  field  on  which  he  believed  that,  in  the 
far-off  day,  there  would  be  a  golden  harvest. 

The  tree  of  life  was  in  the  midst  of  the  street, 
and  its  leaves  were  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 
That  vision,  seen  so  long  ago,  is  yet  strangely 
modern  and  peculiarly  full  of  meaning  for  the  men 
of  to-day.  It  is  the  vision  of  the  opportunity  and 
the  responsibility  of  social  life.  There  is  already 
life  in  the  midst  of  the  street;  but  there  is  earnest 
need  of  more  and  better  life.  For  the  redemption 
of  the  street  is  yet  a  long  way  off.  The  streets  of 
our  world  are  like  those  in  the  parable — full  of 
poor  and  maimed,  blind  and  lame;  and  the  Master 
is  saying  to  us,  as  the  master  in  the  parable  said  to 
his  servants,  "Go  out  quickly  into  the  streets,  and 
bring  them  in  hither." 

Nor  does  the  obligation  cease  when  those  in  the 
streets  of  our  own  cities  have  been  brought  in.    It 


IN  THE   MIDST   OF  THE   STREET       243 

stretches  out  to  the  regions  beyond ;  for  the  leaves 
of  the  tree  were  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 
Christianity  is  a  social  force;  but  the  society  on 
which  it  is  designed  to  operate  is  the  whole  world. 
It  will  be  content  with  nothing  less  than  a  redeemed 
world.  But  it  does  its  work  through  redeemed 
personalities;  and  it  lies  with  each  of  those  who 
believe  in  God  and  have  been  quickened  by  Jesus 
to  play  some  deliberate  part  in  the  slow  transforma- 
tion of  the  world  till  it  becomes  the  kingdom  of  our 
God  and  of  His  Christ;  and  then  there  will  be  no 
curse  any  more. 


R  S 


THE   RIVER  AND  THE  DEAD  SEA 


THE   RIVER   AND   THE   DEAD   SEA 

"  Everything  shall  live,  whithersoever  the  river  cometh  " 

It  has  long  been  the  fashion  to  regard  Ezekiel 

as  a  legalist,   with  little  of  the  old  prophetic  fire 

and  imagination.     But  the  man  who  drew  for  us 

the  immortal  pictures  of  the  valley  of  dry  bones 

and  of  the  river  of  life  that  proceeded  from  the 

temple  of  God,  must  rank  as  one  of  the  poets  and 

prophets  of  the  world.     The  earlier  parts  of  his 

description  of  the  river,   where  his  Divine  guide 

comes   forth   with   a   line    in    his   hand,    and   four 

times   measures   the   depth   of   its   waters,    after   a 

thousand  cubits  of  its  progress  eastward,  may  seem 

somewhat  mathematical  and  unimaginative.     But 

when  he  brings  us  out  upon  the  Dead  Sea,  and  we 

watch  the  fishing-boats  that  move  along  its  western 

shores;  when  he  shows  us  the  trees,  whose  leaves 

and  fruit  are  deathless,  that  fringe  the  wonderful 

river  on  both  its  banks;  then  we  feel  that  we  are 

in  the  hands  of  a  great  poet,  who  looked  with  eyes 

of  love  and  hope  upon  the  world,  and  who  saw 

deep  into  the  heart  of  things. 

The    whole    passage    indeed    exhibits    the    pro- 
247 


248       THE   CITY  WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

phetic  imagination  in  one  of  its  most  daring  and 
splendid  flights.  Ezekiel  and  his  people  are  still 
in  the  land  of  exile — they  are  doomed  to  remain 
there  for  at  least  over  thirty  years,  and,  so  far  as 
human  eye  could  see,  for  ever.  But,  so  sure  is  the 
prophet  that  Jehovah  will  bring  His  people  back 
to  their  own  land,  that  he  actually  draws  up  a 
minute  and  elaborate  programme  for  the  re-organ- 
ization of  the  Church  on  their  return.  Even  in 
the  Bible,  with  its  hope  invincible  flashing  from 
every  page,  there  is  nothing  more  sublime  than 
this — that,  by  the  waters  of  Babylon,  where  the 
national  hopes  seemed  to  be  for  ever  extinguished, 
and  there  was  nothing  left  for  the  exiles  but  to 
hang  up  their  harps  upon  the  willow  trees  and 
weep,  as  they  thought  of  their  beloved  Jerusalem, 
which  they  were  never  likely  to  see  again — there 
is  nothing  more  sublime  than  this,  that  a  prophet 
could  not  only  see  beyond  the  immediate  sorrow, 
in  some  vague  way,  to  a  brighter  day,  but  that  he 
saw  it  all  so  clearly  and  confidently  that  he  pre- 
pares and  minutely  plans  for  it. 

Now  of  this  new  national  life,  the  temple  is  to 
be  the  very  centre  and  core.  Like  our  Lord,  he 
has  a  large  imagination  of  the  Church  and  her 
destiny;  the  gates  of  Hades  should  not  prevail 
against  her.  This  explains  the  elaborate  attention 
which  the  affairs  of  the  temple  receive  through  a 
succession  of  chapters  which  to  us,  who  are  afar 


THE   RIVER  AND  THE   DEAD   SEA     249 

off,  may  seem  dreary  enough.  But,  dreary  as 
they  may  seem  to  us  of  another  age  and  country, 
they  glow  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  man  who 
penned  them ;  the  plans  for  the  temple  were  drawn 
by  an  eager  and  loving  hand.  In  this  great  de- 
scription of  the  river  of  life,  however,  he  carries  us 
to  ground  upon  which  he  can  stir  our  own  interest 
more  readily.  His  pictures  may  seem  to  us,  in 
part,  mechanical  and  fantastic,  if  not  grotesque; 
but  it  is  not  difficult  for  a  sympathetic  imagination 
to  appreciate  the  thing  Ezekiel  would  be  at,  or  to 
share  his  hopeful  and  eager  wonder  at  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  future  time,  when  the  Church  shall 
have  secured  her  true  place  in  the  land  and  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people. 

We  must  first,  however,  beware  of  putting  too 
spiritual  an  interpretation  upon  the  imagery  of 
Ezekiel.  In  large  measure,  he  literally  means 
what  he  says.  To  us,  such  a  river,  with  such  a 
course,  flowing  from  the  temple  eastward  across 
the  Judaean  hills  and  falling  into  the  Dead  Sea, 
may  well  appear  a  physiographical  absurdity. 
But  that  the  prophet  means  himself  to  be  taken 
seriously  is  plain  from  his  circumstantial  picture 
of  the  fishermen  casting  their  nets  upon  the  waters 
between  Engedi  on  the  west  and  Eneglaim  on  the 
north.  He  means  that,  when  the  world  is  re- 
deemed, there  will  be  no  place  in  it  for  a  desert 
and  a  Dead  Sea.    These  things,  too,  shall  share  in 


250       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

the  redemption ;  the  desert  shall  rejoice  and 
blossom  as  the  rose,  and  the  Dead  Sea  shall  be- 
come alive  again.  The  earth,  as  well  as  the  men 
upon  it,  shall  be  transfigured ;  and  it  is  primarily 
this  physical  transfiguration  that  Ezekiel  has  in 
view,  when  he  describes  the  effect  of  the  river  of 
life. 

At  the  same  time,  it  would  not  be  untrue  to  the 
spirit  of  Ezekiel's  message,  to  find  in  it  truths 
directly  applicable  to  our  modern  needs  and  situa- 
tion. The  waters  of  the  river  are  said  to  proceed 
from  the  sanctuary;  does  that  not  suggest  that  the 
Church  should  be  a  river  of  life,  and  that  from  her, 
influences  should  stream  which  would  bless  and 
beautify  and  fertilize  the  world  ? 

Very  near  every  Church  is  the  desert  and  the 
Dead  Sea— the  rough,  jagged  hills  on  which  no- 
thing grows  and  over  which  men  stumble,  and  the 
sea  in  whose  waters  no  fish  swims,  and  on  whose 
surface  no  ship  floats.  Round  about  the  Church 
is  a  dreary  desolation ;  what  is  she  doing  to  im- 
part to  it  life  and  beauty  ?  The  life  that  is  in  her 
should  flow  out  of  her  to  the  regions  beyond, 
especially  to  the  places  where  the  need  is  sorest. 
The  stream  that  Ezekiel  saw,  as  soon  as  it  left  the 
temple,  made  straight  for  the  east,  for  the  Dead 
Sea — for  that  was  the  region  of  death,  the  region 
that  most  needed  life  and  blessing. 

The  true  Church  will  go  to  the  waste  places, 


THE   RIVER  AND  THE   DEAD   SEA     251 

where  she  is  most  sorely  needed.  And,  as  she  goes 
in  the  direction  ordained  for  her  by  the  needs  of 
the  world  about  her,  she  will  gather  strength.  The 
water  may  not  be  deep  or  strong  for  the  first 
thousand  cubits;  but  the  farther  the  stream  of  her 
influence  advances,  the  deeper  and  stronger  will  it 
become.  Beauty  will  spring  up  wherever  she  goes; 
her  banks  will  be  shaded  with  lovely  trees;  what 
once  was  desolation  she  will  turn  into  a  Paradise, 
and  her  influence  will  quicken  the  lifeless  into 
life. 

The  water  from  Ezekiel's  temple  flowed  east;  and 
the  stream  of  our  Church's  activity  will  also  flow 
east — east  to  India  and  China,  where  heathenism 
has  left  its  blight  and  desolation,  and  human  needs 
are  very  sore ;  east  to  the  slums  of  our  cities,  where 
life  is  sordid  and  the  battle  is  hard.  But  to  the 
west  no  less  than  to  the  east ;  for  the  west,  too,  has 
its  gorgeous  desolations,  and  there  the  Church 
must  be  prepared  to  cut  a  channel  for  her  streams. 
She  will  go,  if  we  may  adopt  the  happy  mistrans- 
lation of  the  Greek  version,  to  "  Galilee  and 
Arabia  " — to  Galilee  in  the  north  and  Arabia  in  the 
south,  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth.  Where 
the  dreary  and  the  thirsty  places  are,  there  must 
she  be,  with  the  water  of  life. 

The  background  of  this  vision  is  a  sick  and  hun- 
gry world.  This  is  incidentally  suggested  by  the 
very  last  words  of  the  description,  where  the  fruit 


252       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

of  the  beautiful  trees  upon  its  banks  is  to  be  for 
food,  and  their  leaves  for  healing.  Food  for  the 
famished  and  healing  for  the  sick  souls  of  men  ! 
These  things  the  Church  must  be  able  to  provide, 
or  she  is  no  Church.  The  trees,  with  their  whole- 
some fruit  and  health-giving  leaves,  are  nourished 
by  the  waters  of  the  river,  and  the  river  has  its 
source  in  the  house  of  God — the  whole  being  finely 
symbolic  of  the  vital  and  healing  influences  that 
ought  to  stream  forth  from  the  Church  upon 
society.  Too  often  the  life  of  the  Church  is  en- 
closed within  the  four  walls  of  the  outer  court, 
and  not  the  eastern  gate  alone,  but  all  the  gates 
are  closed,  so  that  those  without  cannot  pass 
within  and  those  within  will  not  pass  without. 
No  stream  of  life  has  gone  forth  from  it  to  bless 
the  surrounding  world.  The  waste  places  have  re- 
mained waste,  even  those  that  were  only  a  thou- 
sand cubits  from  the  door;  and  the  Dead  Sea, 
only  a  few  miles  off,  has  remained  dead.  In  that 
case  must  we  not  say  that  the  Church  herself  is 
dead  ?  If  the  water  will  not  run,  if  the  stream  will 
not  flow,  it  is  stagnant.  Some  churches  either  do 
not  move  at  all,  or  move  away  from  the  districts 
where  the  people  with  their  problems  are  crowded 
together,  out  to  the  sunny,  pleasant  places  where 
there  is  comfort  and  room.  If  the  Church  is  alive, 
she  must  move;  but  if  she  understands  her  duty, 
she  will  move  towards  the  Dead  Sea. 


THE   RIVER   AND  THE   DEAD   SEA     253 

Very  suggestive  of  the  true  function  of  the 
Church  is  the  frequency  of  the  word  life  through- 
out this  passage.  "Everything  shall  live,  whither- 
soever the  river  cometh."  As  on  the  Dead  Sea, 
where  once  reigned  silence,  are  now  boats  and  fish 
and  nets  and  fishermen,  when  its  waters  are  touched 
by  the  waters  of  the  river,  so  life  will  spring  up 
wherever  a  Church  is  true  to  her  high  mission. 
Everything  shall  live  whithersoever  the  river  of 
her  life  cometh.  If  this  is  not  literally  true,  it  is 
ideally  true.  She  has  food  and  healing  to  offer  all 
who  are  willing  to  be  fed  and  healed  by  her.  She 
can  express  her  life  in  an  infinite  variety  of  ways, 
for  not  once,  but  twelve  times  a  year,  do  her  trees 
yield  their  fruit;  and  she  has  an  inexhaustible 
power  of  adapting  herself  to  the  various  needs  of 
men. 

The  prophet,  or  preacher,  is  a  messenger  of  life. 
He  stands  in  the  silent  valley  of  bones  and  speaks 
the  word  which  brings  the  dead  to  life  again. 
And  the  Church  must  also  be  a  messenger  of  life. 
With  living  preachers  and  a  living  Church,  the 
world's  redemption  would  not  be  very  far  off. 
The  preacher  by  his  word  of  power,  would,  by  the 
blessing  of  God,  compel  the  sleeping  Church  to 
stand  upon  its  feet — an  exceeding  great  army ; 
and  this  living  army  would  go  out,  to  the  north 
and  the  south,  to  the  east  and  the  west,  to  Galilee 
and  Arabia,  to  the  dreary  hills  of  Judaea  and  the 


254       THE   CITY   WITH   FOUNDATIONS 

silent  waters  of  the  lifeless  sea,  to  the  highways 
and  the  byways,  to  the  waste,  the  lifeless,  the  un- 
promising places,  carrying  healing  and  blessing 
and  life  wherever  they  went.  Then  the  world 
would  be  transfigured,  and  this  old  earth  of  ours 
would  be  a  very  Paradise  of  God. 


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